The Hellhound's Un-Christmas Miracle - Zoe Chant Page 0,14

something wrong with my telepathy, I can’t reach them.” She thumped her fist on the door again. “Open up!”

The door swung open.

“Sheena, hon, we don’t have anyone staying with us.” Fiona’s voice was eerily flat.

Sheena blinked into the sudden darkness behind the open door. “What do you mean? I can sense that someone’s here. And… and the door’s open now, actually, so I’ll just…”

“Sheena, you need to get out of there. Right now. It’s not—”

Her voice cut off. Sheena frowned and looked at her phone. Dead.

But the door was open. Sheena took a step forward before her aunt’s words settled in. Get out of here? Right now? It’s not—what? What isn’t it?

Safe? She looked over her shoulder. Everything was very, very on fire—no shit it wasn’t safe.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively, pushing the door further open. “My name’s Sheena. I don’t know if you’ve looked outside lately, but…”

There was no one inside but suddenly, Sheena’s skin prickled with a wash of cold sweat. The air flickered and she jerked back, raising her hand to shield herself from… nothing?

“Wh-what?” she muttered to herself. The corridor was empty. There wasn’t even a curtain over the door that could have swung across and frightened her, so why was she so shaken?

It had felt like something was coming straight at her, and then… nothing.

Sheena raised one shaking hand to push her hair off her face. She was trembling so badly her phone fell to the ground.

What’s wrong? her sheep asked, nuzzling against her. Why are you acting so weird?

“I—” Sheena licked her lips. Her breath was coming in short gasps. I don’t know? You don’t feel that?

Feel what?

Feel… She shivered. Afraid?

No, her sheep replied stoutly. I don’t care what you said about being no better than acrylic. I’m not going to let some stupid fire stop us from doing what’s right!

Not afraid of the fire, of… Sheena shook herself. Yes of the fire, she meant. Didn’t she? Because there was nothing else to be afraid of. Just fiery death.

And letting some poor arsehole die because she was too busy freaking out like the helpless munter everyone thought she was to help them.

That scared her. Letting herself down because of her limitations was one thing, but letting down other people? She couldn’t live with that.

And you dropped your phone! Her sheep sounded scandalized. I don’t know where you get off, teasing me about being scatterbrained when you don’t even—look, it’s right there, pick it up before you stand on it or something—

Sheena shook her head. Her sheep wasn’t making any sense. She was shivering like she’d just crashed into a frozen lake, and it was talking about her phone? She didn’t have time for this.

Her sheep was still trying to nudge her back towards her phone. She reached out as though she was going to pick it up and, while her sheep was distracted by its success, quickly constructed a mental picnic basket around it.

Hey! her sheep bleated. Mmmf!

There, Sheena thought. She felt dizzy for a moment, as the basket that would keep her sheep temporarily out of her hair settled in place.

The picnic basket was the one surefire method she had of stopping her sheep from running away with her. It was like an internal version of the walls she used to keep other shifters from peeking into her inner self. With the walls on the outside and the picnic basket on the inside, what was left of Sheena felt like she was being squeezed in a sliding door, but at least she wasn’t constantly fighting her sheep’s twitchy instinct to run at the first sign of trouble.

She hurried inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkened corridor. “Hey! If you’re in here—” she began and froze.

There it was again. The uncanny sensation that something was rushing towards her. And… a smell.

The hairs on the back of her neck rose. This wasn’t the normal geothermic stink, even if the way it kept wafting in and out of reach was the same. She took a few tentative steps, moving her head from side to side to try to pin it down.

It was nasty. Sweet, but bad sweet. Like coming back from a week away and finding the power had gone off. Milk curdled, vegetables slimy, cheese weeping. Or a glass of wine left in the sun until it was all vinegar and flies.

She grimaced, but the smell was gone again as quickly as it had appeared. Sheena lowered her head bullishly. Someone was here—someone