Incubus Moon Read Online Free PDF
Author: Andrew Cheney-Feid
Austin.”
My spine gave another San Andreas shimmy. “Joy, you’re freaking me out.”
She jerked back in her chair, mascara smudged and staining her cheeks, her expression filled with pure terror now. “You have to go.”
“Joy, I—”
She shook her head violently. “Please!”
Pinpoints of light began to dance before my eyes and I struggled to get air into my lungs. Worse than that, Joy Ebersole was afraid of me. I could actually feel her fear.
CHAPTER 4
My hands trembled on the Jeep’s steering wheel the entire way home to Monrovia, my injured palm still itching and throbbing, and the headache I’d woken up with this morning had grown to T-Rex proportions. Talk about the worst birthday ever.
Turning thirty was supposed to be a milestone in a person’s life. Visiting Joy Ebersole today was supposed to offer me some semblance of hope that my biological parents were out there somewhere and traceable. All of that changed with my close encounter of the spookiest kind. The entity claimed that I was an incubus, whatever that was.
The extra-rotten cherry on top of an already rotten birthday cake? Darkness was coming for me in the form of a Shadow Walker , whatever the hell that was.
Did I mention this being the worst birthday ever?
And yet, somehow a part of me knew that the entity had spoken the truth. That it had blown the door wide onto something that, up until yesterday, had lay dormant inside me.
Scarier still, whatever that something was…it wanted out.
CHAPTER 5
After my terror-a-thon at Joy’s and the fiasco with the Texan, I deliberately avoided Mark and Christie Gold. Isolating myself from the reassurance of good friends might exacerbate my present state of anxiety, but they knew me too well. They’d figure out that my jumpiness and mood swings ran deeper than grieving for a dead parent or processing the whole adoption disaster. Imagine explaining to Mark why the injury to my palm wasn’t there anymore.
That’s right. The stinging and itching ceased after a mere two days. All that remained of the wound was a thin, purple furrow where a nasty gash should have been. Talk about irrefutable evidence that I wasn’t altogether me anymore.
Despite the freakiness that had entered my life, I did the classic guy thing. I pretended that everything was fine. Each morning I got up, worked out for an hour, showered, knocked back a Starbucks wet cappuccino, and then drove to my job as a legal assistant at a Pasadena law firm. As though I hadn’t a care in the world. As if I weren’t an incubus.
I still didn’t know what that even meant, and I damn well didn’t want to know. Because a few weeks into the denial game, the comfy fantasy began to pay off.
Early Saturday morning I awoke rested and feeling surprisingly like my old self again.
No mysterious dreams. No uncontrollable urges to make out with the “Y” chromosome side of life again. No pretty, naked strangers with bed-tussled hair and sleepy eyes I couldn’t remember bringing home grinning sheepishly across the pillow at me. Today felt like a real turning point. A first positive step toward moving forward and burying the negative baggage of my past so deep that it couldn’t find its way back up to bite me on the ass.
This epiphany also included discounting any belief whatsoever in the notion that an actual Shadow Walker existed, or that a thirty-year-old legal assistant from Monrovia, California, was a Child of Lilith . That was the plan, anyway.
After a quick breakfast, I rang up a local realtor friend to make an appointment for her to come over and view the house. I’d been ruminating over the idea of selling it for a couple of weeks now, and today seemed as good a day as any to set that idea in motion. So I agreed to her request to swing by her office in Pasadena later that morning to further discuss the matter.
A landmark in the community, the home had been built a full decade before Monrovia became incorporated in 1887, a town
My spine gave another San Andreas shimmy. “Joy, you’re freaking me out.”
She jerked back in her chair, mascara smudged and staining her cheeks, her expression filled with pure terror now. “You have to go.”
“Joy, I—”
She shook her head violently. “Please!”
Pinpoints of light began to dance before my eyes and I struggled to get air into my lungs. Worse than that, Joy Ebersole was afraid of me. I could actually feel her fear.
CHAPTER 4
My hands trembled on the Jeep’s steering wheel the entire way home to Monrovia, my injured palm still itching and throbbing, and the headache I’d woken up with this morning had grown to T-Rex proportions. Talk about the worst birthday ever.
Turning thirty was supposed to be a milestone in a person’s life. Visiting Joy Ebersole today was supposed to offer me some semblance of hope that my biological parents were out there somewhere and traceable. All of that changed with my close encounter of the spookiest kind. The entity claimed that I was an incubus, whatever that was.
The extra-rotten cherry on top of an already rotten birthday cake? Darkness was coming for me in the form of a Shadow Walker , whatever the hell that was.
Did I mention this being the worst birthday ever?
And yet, somehow a part of me knew that the entity had spoken the truth. That it had blown the door wide onto something that, up until yesterday, had lay dormant inside me.
Scarier still, whatever that something was…it wanted out.
CHAPTER 5
After my terror-a-thon at Joy’s and the fiasco with the Texan, I deliberately avoided Mark and Christie Gold. Isolating myself from the reassurance of good friends might exacerbate my present state of anxiety, but they knew me too well. They’d figure out that my jumpiness and mood swings ran deeper than grieving for a dead parent or processing the whole adoption disaster. Imagine explaining to Mark why the injury to my palm wasn’t there anymore.
That’s right. The stinging and itching ceased after a mere two days. All that remained of the wound was a thin, purple furrow where a nasty gash should have been. Talk about irrefutable evidence that I wasn’t altogether me anymore.
Despite the freakiness that had entered my life, I did the classic guy thing. I pretended that everything was fine. Each morning I got up, worked out for an hour, showered, knocked back a Starbucks wet cappuccino, and then drove to my job as a legal assistant at a Pasadena law firm. As though I hadn’t a care in the world. As if I weren’t an incubus.
I still didn’t know what that even meant, and I damn well didn’t want to know. Because a few weeks into the denial game, the comfy fantasy began to pay off.
Early Saturday morning I awoke rested and feeling surprisingly like my old self again.
No mysterious dreams. No uncontrollable urges to make out with the “Y” chromosome side of life again. No pretty, naked strangers with bed-tussled hair and sleepy eyes I couldn’t remember bringing home grinning sheepishly across the pillow at me. Today felt like a real turning point. A first positive step toward moving forward and burying the negative baggage of my past so deep that it couldn’t find its way back up to bite me on the ass.
This epiphany also included discounting any belief whatsoever in the notion that an actual Shadow Walker existed, or that a thirty-year-old legal assistant from Monrovia, California, was a Child of Lilith . That was the plan, anyway.
After a quick breakfast, I rang up a local realtor friend to make an appointment for her to come over and view the house. I’d been ruminating over the idea of selling it for a couple of weeks now, and today seemed as good a day as any to set that idea in motion. So I agreed to her request to swing by her office in Pasadena later that morning to further discuss the matter.
A landmark in the community, the home had been built a full decade before Monrovia became incorporated in 1887, a town
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