Chapter Thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I walked in the front door and knew something was wrong. The house didn’t feel right.

“Seth? Lydia? I’m home,” I called and dropped my backpack on the floor. Nobody answered.

“I’m leaving my jacket on the couch like a slob. I’m wearing my boots in the house, and I didn’t even wipe them. You’d better come yell at me.”

Silence.

The sticky weight of the atmosphere nearly took my breath away. The Mark between my shoulder blades burned, making me slightly nauseous. I tiptoed to the kitchen and peeked through the door. Nothing. I reached in and slid a heavy duty kitchen knife out of the block, just in case.

“Seth? Are you here?”

I walked through the downstairs, checking closets and under tables as I went. The knife shone dully, and I swallowed hard. I hoped I didn’t have to use it. I took a deep breath and nearly decided not to go upstairs, telling myself I was obviously alone in the house, but the sickly, oily ambiance of the home made me grind my teeth and continue