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Already the scents of Christmas floated about the air currents in the room, warmed and exploded by the flames in the fireplace on the south wall. ‘Mom,’ Abigail laughed. ‘I am not plucking that bird this year. Let Dad do it.’ Her laughter danced alive around her. ‘Better yet, let Jake do it. It will give him a Christmas memory to take with him.’ ‘Hmm,’ Kiley considered. ‘It certainly has merit. It would mean neither of us has to do it. But, have you considered how the feathers will tickle going down? Because you know he’ll never get them all.’ They were standing in the kitchen giggling, flour up to their elbows when the front door burst open. Jake stood there, struggling not to cry, his father fighting to stay on his feet beside him. Blood blossomed across Edgar’s chest, his face pale and wan, the color gone from his skin. Every precaution she and Edgar had ever taken to shield their children from the way they lived vanished as the image burned itself into her memory. ‘Master,’. He wondered if Quinn had just told him to come here to make him look stupid, and he felt a hot flush of shame flood his system. That was far more likely than the idea of Quinn wanting to be friend. He was just about to go when he heard a sharp, hoarse voice break through the quiet. You Timothy Larks? The voice called. Yeah, He called back. Am I early, or something. No, A voice whispered in his ear. Youre right on time. He began to turn, but a thick, muscular arm wrapped around his neck and pulled him backwards, hard. He lost his balance and went staggering backwards, against a hard, solid chest of muscle. A piece of cloth was around his eyes, and his hands shot up to the arm keeping him captive and choking off his air supply. Somehow, the stranger managed to tie the cloth tightly around his head, cutting off any light which might have penetrated the swaths of shadows. Tim opened his mouth to shout for help, when a rag was stuffed between his jaws. It all happened so fast he didnt.
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