The Invitation

Rosemary permeated the house, clinging weakly to the drapes and blending with the aroma of cooked bread. Through the windows evening poured honeyed light over the floorboards. Zelene went through the quiet house folding laundry methodically, but her thoughts were a thousand miles away next door, really. 

 She hadn't seen him since the pool incident, but his picture stayed behind her eyes water dripping down sculpted muscle, the sharp lines of his jaw, the stillness in his gaze like a predator watching from the shadows. She shook her head then dropped Mikey's T-shirt into the basket. Amazing. Still, the air sensed charged weight now. As though the house itself had taken up her nervous energy and started to vibrate. Told herself it was simply new-house jitters, she tried to ignore it.

 Deeply down, though, she knew better. The front door let out a creak. "Mom?," asked Mikey's voice bounced down the hall. She said, "In here!" as her kid exploded into view and dropped his backpack with a crash into the foyer. Now thin, sharp-limbed, he had dark lashes from his father and her tough jawline. He was twelve. He kicked off his trainers carelessly and looked at her with a slanted smile. " guessed what?" "You chose to apply to Harvard after finishing your math assignment and heading home." Mikey cast a rolling eye glance. Ha-ha here. No. I visited our recently hired neighbor. Zelene paused. You did? Certainly. He nodded at me. He was, presumably, washing his car or something. Looks like he could run over a tank; he has a beautiful one huge, black. Her mouth quitched. 

 Not exactly a feature they highlight. Still great, though. He seemed like one of those movie-based super heroes. You know dark, tall, somewhat frightening yet in a cool manner. Superhero, huh? Mikey curled up on the couch. "Are we going to properly meet him? Perhaps bring cookies or something else. Grandma used to say it's courteous. Zelene opened her mouth and closed once again. She couldn't tell her kid she had been admiring the neighbor from behind a curtain only hours ago. She said, instead, "I'm sure we'll see him around." A quick knock from the front door almost exactly on cue. Her pulse fluttered. 

 Mikey turned to face her. "maybe that's him." "Don't be ridiculous," she said, but her feet were already pointing toward the door. She had to turn her attitude into something objective as she opened it. He stood there. Damian Moretti Every bit as remarkable in the last of the sunlight as he had been earlier. Wearing a black collared shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, his dark eyes were steady and unreadable. He held in hand a bottle of crimson wine. "Evening," he said, voice seamless, easy. 

Zelene held a bit tighter grasp on the door's edge. Hello. "New neighbors should introduce themselves appropriately," I thought. He lifted up the bottle slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. That's... reflective. "I had help deciding on it," he said. "The cashier of the wine shop claimed it's the kind that starts talks." Trying not to look flustered, Zelene moved aside You are welcome to come in. Damian crossed the boundary, and the air altered once again denser, warmer as though the walls themselves were responding to his presence. Mikey peeped eyes wide from behind the corridor. "This is my son, Mikey," Zelene added. " Hey, Mikey grinned and said. "Excellent automobile." Damian started to laugh. " gratitude. You have sharp eyes. Zelene pointed toward the living room. "Please have a seat. I'm going to acquire glasses. He nodded and sank himself down on the couch, his motions deliberate and exact. 

 Her nerves buzzed in response to something about his method of entering the room evaluating and classifying. Like he was reading the history of her life via every book, every missing pillow, he was not merely gazing at furniture. She filled the wine and came back to present him a glass. Taking it from her hand, he exclaimed, "Beautiful house." "There is something timeless about it." "That belongs to my grandma," she answered. 

 She was rather like a local myth. His gaze drifted to the wall-mounted herb rack. "I looked at the dried bundles. Was she interested in natural medicine? "you could say that." Zelene settled down and drank her wine carefully. She thought in many different directions. crystalline objects phases of the Moon Spelling. Ah, he murmured, slanted his glass. "A witch, then?" Zelene arched her eyebrows. "She referred to herself as that. I referred to her as eccentric. Damian's lips softly curved. And what would you say best describe yourself? "Policiable." Still, his eyes never wavered; something about the way he posed the question made her heart contract. 

As though he was enquiring about something more than personality. He leaned back, his voice low, looking across the book shelves. "Still... this location has power. You sense it, do not you? Her hold on the glass strengthened. Just old. Old things tend to leave echoes. Now the room seemed less busy. Even Mikey had disappeared upstairs, feeling the change in the air without looking for direction. Zelene opened her mouth to cough. " Actually, I have been going insane in the kitchen from a shelf hinge. Maintaining open swing. He stood straight away. "Show me". She guided him across the little archway into the kitchen, pointing to the cabinet door that would not remain closed.

 Damian bent in front of it, fingers gliding neatly over the hinge. His hands seemed to have learned the form of every screw and nail, so acting precisely. In a few minutes he had it corrected. Watching him, she said, "You're handy." "I've had a lot of practice." Rising to his full height, he topped her and reached for the screwdriver once more but not before delicately brushing his fingers across hers. Her breath stopped. 

Though momentary, the contact set something visceral under her skin. She felt heat flooding her cheeks. Damian stayed put. He did not retreat. He fixed her eyes, darker now but more powerful. Like an instrument being tuned just below hearing range, their conflict hummed louder. She said, too gently, "Thank you." "My pleasure," said. Between them, the quiet stretched long and taut. He then retreated, allowing her space, but not before just one more check over her. She trailed close behind him toward the entrance. Stopped on the threshold, he peered over his shoulder. 

 Good evening, Zelene. Her spine shivered as he pronounced her name slow, intentional. She closed the door behind him but stayed motionless there, fingers on the knob, her pulse clear in her ears. Something about that man caught me. Unspoken anything. Something harmful. She wasn't sure, though, whether she wanted to flee it or plunge right forward into it.