Stones Unturned Read Online Free PDF Page A

start to itch, and his temper was like a ticking bomb.
    It was best that his mother left Conan Doyle's house and headed home, especially after the kind of night it had been.
    Now Danny was lying on his bed, trying to calm down. His head buzzed like he'd drunk five Red Bulls. He was even desperate enough to have attempted some of the relaxation techniques the psychiatrist he used to see had tried to teach him, but it didn't do a damn bit of good. All he could think about was the head shrink's gorgeously blond receptionist, sitting behind her desk, and what he would have liked to do to her.
    Vivid images filled his mind, loaded with sex and violence — heavy on the violence. Danny recoiled, the scenes appearing in his head disturbing even to him.
    Whoa, where'd they come from? he wondered, sitting up in the bed, the sights inside his skull gradually beginning to fade, but not fast enough.
    He guessed that this was all part of the transformation — of becoming what he was — and tried to play it down. Eve and Graves had been telling him all along that whatever his origins, he could choose to be whatever he wanted. Hell, Eve was a pretty damned good example of that.
    He scratched vigorously at an extremely itchy patch of skin in the center of his chest. It felt even weirder than the thick scaly hide usually felt, and he got up from his bed and walked across to his bathroom. Flicking on the light, he winced. Bright light was starting to hurt his eyes. On the other hand, his night vision was awesome.
    Danny squinted, adjusting to the brightness of the bathroom, and was finally able to look at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror.
    What a piece of work, he thought, gazing at his reflection with a mixture of disgust and awe. Every time he looked, there seemed to be something different. For example, he was certain that his horns had gotten longer since that morning.
    The irritated patch of flesh on his chest called attention to itself again, and he lifted up his Reservoir Dogs T-shirt to get a look. Every inch of his exposed body appeared dried and irritated. It seemed like he was sloughing off his skin at least once a week, but the spot on his chest looked different somehow.
    What's up with that? He leaned in closer to the mirror as he poked and prodded at the area with a clawed finger. Something was growing in the center of his flesh. It was small, about the size of a grape, and if it weren't for the ridiculous itch, he probably wouldn't even have noticed it. It felt different than the rest of his changing skin; squishy, like it was filled with fluid. Danny was tempted try and tear it open. He pressed one of his claws into the little nodule, but then became distracted.
    Distracted by a smell.
    Danny tilted his horned head back and breathed it in. The scent wasn't from within the house. It came from outside. Leaving the bathroom and forgetting all about the weird growth on his chest, the teenager stood in the center of his room, the enticing aroma luring him. He walked to the door and stepped out into the hall. It was eerily quiet in the house. As far as he knew, nobody else was home.
    Danny squinted, realizing that he could actually see the scent writhing in the air like smoke curling from a cigarette. He followed it to another set of stairs that led up to the brownstone's roof and began to climb them. The closer he got to the roof, the stronger the smell became.
    Unlocking the heavy wooden door, carved with all manner of bizarre ancient symbols that he couldn't begin to decipher, Danny emerged onto the rooftop. A gust of cold November air blasted him, but he was undeterred. The scent was even stronger now, and he followed it across the rooftop. He sprang up onto the wall that ran around the roof perimeter, perching there, head tilted back, like some kind of living gargoyle.
    The scent came from across the way, from a building on Mount Vernon Street, and more specifically, from her.
    In the darkness, Danny smiled, feeling the