Incubus

9

You'll be mine soon, his words echoed in her head.

Not if I can help it.

As if she was suddenly struck by a match, Celia awoke from a deep slumber. Immediately, fluorescent light blinded her and she blinked her eyes open once more.

When the events of last night hit her, she gasped and sprang up to her feet. A rush of dizziness hit her and she grabbed the nearest chair for balance. Then looked across the diner to see a familiar redhead still laying on the floor.

Celia ran over to an unconscious Valerie, pressing a palm over her heart as she leaned down, ear to her parted lips. She exhaled out a breath of relief as she felt the steady throbbing of her pulse, and listened her faint breath.

Looking to the rest of the fallen customers, she realized she would have a lot to explain the next day. But how exactly could she explain the broken glass and mysteriously unconscious customers? Not even Valerie could help her, if her memory really had been wiped clean.

How could she be sure Valerie would even wake up? She couldn't. She couldn't trust his word.

So she lay by her friends side, leaning over to brush the auburn hair from her face. "I'm sorry Val," she whispered as a tear dripped to her friends cheek. Her tear. She was so, so tired. Eyelids dropping, Celia finally surrendered to the darkness.

—

The strong scent of Jasmine stirred her awake. Celia's eyes flew open, only to blink against the harsh morning light spilling through a window. Her entire body was sore and aching as she slowly lifted her body from the blankets of her bed.

Wait, blankets?

Fully awake, Celia sprang out of bed, barely avoiding the crystals and candles still littering the floor. She glanced around at the lavender painted walls of her bedroom, breathing rapidly.

Everything from last night crashed into her like a freight train. She had passed out in the diner, with Valerie in her arms. How the hell did she end up in her bedroom? The only thing that hadn't changed were her clothes, she realized as she glanced at the mirror. She looked like a mess, and her hair was everywhere. Just like it had been last night.

Panicking, Celia raced over and grabbed her phone from her bedside table. She didn't remember putting it there either. Regardless, she dialed her friend's number without a second thought. She paced up and down her room impatiently as it continued to ring.

When no response came, she ran out of her room and stampeded through the old hallways of the cottage. She didn't stop to put on a coat, despite the fact that Maine weather was ruthlessly cold in the autumn.

Celia came to a halt in the living room at the sound of soft snoring, stopping to find her grandmother dozing on the moth-eaten sofa. She gave the old woman one last glance before hurrying to the front door.

When she ran outside into the cold autumn air and didn't see her eggshell blue bicycle, her stomach sank. It had been destroyed yesterday, she finally remembered.

She glanced at the small driveway to see her grams' old pick up truck. Celia knew what she had to do.

She had to go save her friend.