It started as a mere tingle in my knuckles, before the strange sensation—a kind of prickling, like a sleeping limb waking up—began to climb. It scaled the rough, raised edges of scar that wove across my forearm, then, as it reached the curve of my elbow, the prickling suddenly sharpened. It flared into a burn, deep and scorching, raging through me. It felt like my arm was being consumed by the hottest fire, like the Beast had it gripped in it's great, terrible, flaming mouth once again.

I let out a sharp cry and clutched my arm to my chest. Several people on the busy restaurant patio turned in my direction, their gazes both curious and concerned. Ignoring them, I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to focus on thoughts of cool breezes and rushing streams, trying to imagine the water quenching the invisible flames.

This is all in your head, I reminded myself as I tried to will the pain away. It's not real. It's not real.

But, damn, did it ever feel real.

After several moments—that seemed to stretch on like hours—the pain finally began to recede. It ebbed away in waves until the scar was once again numb, lulled back into sleep. With a sigh of relief, I loosened my fingers, leaving bands of white where they had pressed hard into the angry red.

In the almost six months that had passed since Lillian's final assault, the burn she and her Beast had left hadn't healed much. Where my other scars from the battle had faded—from red to pink and eventually to white—this one still looked as fresh and raw as it was the day I woke up in the hospital. It no longer hurt, thankfully, but that was a mixed blessing, because it usually felt nothing at all. The corrupted flesh that twisted up my arm was numb to all touch... except for these bizarre episodes where it felt like my whole arm was burning from the inside out.

A rush of whispers erupted around me. The pain no longer distracting me, I froze. A quick glance around the restaurant patio confirmed my worst fears: everyone was staring at me. I shouldn't have been surprised; by now I was well aware that these episodes—and my scar—drew attention. I grabbed the cardigan from the back of my chair and shoved my arms into the safety of its knitted sleeves. This spring had been unseasonably warm, too warm to justify a sweater, but I would rather sweat to death than be gawked at.

Once the scar was out of sight, the sideshow tucked safely behind a curtain, the other tables went back to minding their own business... except for one. Tucked into the closest corner was a group of young guys, their table crowded with several empty pitchers of beer. They were practically crawling over each other, their stupid mouths hanging open as they tried to get a glimpse of me... or my scar.

Do you even realize that this scar is attached to a person? I thought as I narrowed my eyes at them, but they didn't even seem to notice my glare.

Just as I was about to turn away and try my best to ignore them, one of the guys shot out of his seat. His wide blue eyes fixed on me, bugging out of his head in shock.

"Rachel?" he cried. "Rachel Vaughn? Is that you?"

For a moment, all I could was blink at the stranger and wonder how he knew my name. He was wearing a navy t-shirt with Hillwood University—the same college I attended—written across the chest in block letters. Had I been in a class with him? His generically spiked, bleached-blond hair didn't really stand out, but those blue eyes...

A chill shot through me as it clicked in my head. I did know him. Sort of. He had been a friend of Rick—my cheating ex.

Crap, I thought. My eyes darted around the patio, trying to figure out some way to avoid him, but it was too late: he was already striding over. Soon he was looming over me, blocking out the sun and replacing it with his super-white smile.

"It is you!" he boomed. "I hardly recognized you with that hair." His eyes traced along the drastic edges of my new haircut.

"Y-Yes, it's really me Hayden," I stuttered back, playing nervously with the blunt tips of my bob. It was all that could be salvaged from the singed mess of hair that was left after the battle with Lillian. In the passing months had grown out somewhat, but it still only grazed my jaw.

Undeterred by my awkwardness, he slid uninvited into the empty seat across from me. "Holy shit, Rach! Where the hell have you been? You disappeared! We totally thought you had been kidnapped or something." He laughed.

I gave him a smile that felt more like a grimace. "S-something, uh, came up and I had to take some time off school," I said, trying to make the weak lie sound natural.

Hayden's clear blue eyes slid down to my arm, lingering on the edge of scar that peaked out the sleeve. "Like what?" he asked, his curiosity clear in his voice.

I shoved my arm under the table. "Something," I repeated firmly. There was no way I could explain that the reason I had stopped going to school was because I had been hunted by a supernatural monster and its psychotic master.

"Whatever it was, you should've told someone," Hayden continued, his eyes returning to my face. "Rick was really worried about you when you just, like, stopped coming to class... He tried calling, but you never answered."

"You can't really blame me for not wanting to talk to him, can you?" I said. It came out a little sharper than I had intended.

Hayden raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You're still mad about that?"

About the fact that he fucked someone else in our bed? "No," I said, too quickly for it to sound true. "I just want to move on."

"That's too bad," he said, his blue eyes searching my face before he shook his head. "Well, if you change your mind, I'm sure Rick would love to hear from you. He misses you, you know."

I wanted to shout, I don't fucking care! but forced another unnatural smile to my face instead. "I'll keep that in mind," I said cooly.

An awkward pause followed. Hayden studied the table between us and opened and closed his mouth several times, like he was searching for the right words. "Aren't you kind of lonely?" he began, finally, his lips curling into a smile that had a bit of an insulting edge to it. "I mean, over here... Sitting all on your own. You can come join us if you like."

"Thanks, but..." I started, adding no thanks! in my mind. "I'm actually meeting someone."

"Oh, really?" he said, sounding surprised. "I thought you were alone."

"He's just running late," I said, fighting off another glare. "He should be here soon."

Watching Hayden's eyebrows raise upon hearing 'he' was priceless. I could practically see the gears working behind his eyes. Would he tell Rick that there was a new guy in my life? I hoped so.

"Well, if he doesn't show, the offer still stands," Hayden said, pushing his chair away from the table, its metal legs squealing unpleasantly against the concrete. He stood, then added, "I guess I'll see you around, Rach."

"Yeah," I replied, giving him a weak wave as headed back to his friends and his simple life as a care-free college student. I couldn't help but think about how that, less than a year ago, that been me: drinking at noon with my friends, no other worries beyond final exams. My old life felt like it was a million miles away.

As soon Hayden reached his table, his friends jumped on him. They huddled together, close and quiet, like they were discussing gameplay on a field. Probably hoping to extract every detail about his conversation with me... Who was the girl with the freaky scar? I imagined them asking. Was that actually Rachel Vaughn?

Attempting to push it from my mind, I turned to my phone. I swiped my finger over the large crack that split the screen in two, hoping for some new notification or message... But there was nothing. I gave an exasperated sigh, and settled for re-reading my last text.

I'll be there in five.

"That was twenty minutes ago..." I muttered to myself. Where the hell was he?! If he bailed on me again, especially after I told Hayden that I was expecting him, I was gonna be so—

A girlish squeal nearby yanked me out of my thoughts.

Just beyond the barrier of the patio, a teenage girl had hold of her friend's arm and was dragging him back, pointing excitedly at something just out of sight. As the gazes of the rest of the group followed her finger, they quickly joined in with excited giggling. I realized then that it wasn't just them either. Other people—women mostly, but a few men too—were also stopping for a look. And as each of them turned away, they all seemed to have the same coy smirk.

What is it? I wondered as I craned my neck to try to see through the people on the busy sidewalk, everyone out to take advantage of the sun. Finally the crowd parted, giving me a glimpse of why everyone was freaking out.

There, leaning against the brick wall of a the building next door, was Luc. In his crisp white t-shirt and dark jeans, with his long, wavy black hair swept back, he looked like some kind of hero from the silver screen. The light shadow of stubble cast against his jaw only emphasized the deep cut of his cheekbones. No wonder everyone was swooning. It was too easy to get pulled into his allure. Even I could almost forget that I was mad at him... Almost.

The heat of my anger returned. Had he just been standing there, mere feet from the restaurant door, this whole time? Why had he hadn't just come in, instead of leaving me waiting, wondering where he went?

Then I noticed the silver phone pressed to his ear, and immediately understood.

One of his clients had called.

Ever since our apartment block had burned down, taking Luc's psychic shop along with it, he had been working fervently to get his business back on its feet. Though things were going well—as an actual psychic, Luc was in high demand—but without a storefront, he was forced to chase his clients around because they couldn't come to him. But he'd gotten a little... obsessed. Work came first. He would drop anything if a client called...

Even me.

One of his extra senses must've alerted him of my watchful gaze, because he suddenly turned and looked right at me. I held my hands up in silent offence. What the hell? I thought at him, though reading minds wasn't one of his many talents. How much longer are you gonna make me wait?

In response, he just raised one finger and mouthed something—it looked like, One minute—before turning away again.

You have got to be kidding...

I glared at him, hoping he'd turn back and get the message. Maybe I'd send him a message, a text, knowing each one would buzz obnoxiously against his ear as he continued his conversation. Picking up my phone again to do just that, I turned to shoot him one last glare and—

He was nowhere in sight.

For a short second I just blinked at the brick wall where he had been standing, then scanned the crowded sidewalk to see where he had went, but he wasn't there.

How did he—

A stab of pain shot through my scar. My hand clenched into a fist at the suddenness of it. Not again...

Thankfully, this time the pain petered out quickly, not nearly as intense as last time. Still, though, it unnerved me. Twice in one day? This was new. I pulled back my cardigan's sleeve to look at the scar, wondering what was setting it off. Now that I thought about it, it kind of looked redder than usual, almost swollen...

And like before, I was struck with the sudden feeling that I was being watched. Tucking my arm away again, I scanned my surroundings. This time, however, everyone was minding their own business; even Hayden's table of bros were too busy with a fresh pitcher of beer to notice.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid... I thought as I looked back to the street, wondering again where Luc had gone; if my scar was acting up, he would want to know. The swarm of people on the sidewalk had finally begun to wane as the lunch crowd drifted back to their offices. A few people remained, most of them hurrying past like they were late. My gaze raked through them, hoping to find Luc... But instead my eyes fell on a girl, standing statue-still in the middle of the crowd that moved around her like a rushing stream around a stone. She wore a simple white dress that hung loosely on her thin frame, and her long sheet of hair was lank, mousey, like it hadn't been washed in quite a while.

And, to my shock, she was looking at me. Was it her eyes I had felt?

Or not... Her gaze was unfocussed, looking through me, like she didn't even realize I was there. Her cheeks were sunken, his skin sallow, her eyes shadow-rimmed. Maybe she some kind of addict, under the heavy affect of drugs. That wasn't unlikely in this city.

Knowing there wasn't anything I could do for her, I averted my eyes, but something drew my gaze back again, like some kind of magnetic force.

In the short moment I had looked away, her face had changed. Where before she had seemed dazed, now her gaze was definitely fixed on me. Her mouth had dropped open, pulling her hollowed cheeks taut, as her eyes bulged out of their darkened sockets.

I shuddered in my seat, despite the warmth of the day. What the hell? Even my scar—as ugly as it was—couldn't justify that kind of horror. Perhaps she was having some kind of hallucination induced by her drug of choice. Unsettled, I tried to look away again but quickly realized that I couldn't. It had become literally impossible to tear my eyes from hers.

The world fell silent around me and a throbbing silence descended. I felt myself drift away from the sounds of the street, pulled into her frightening eyes. She began to move towards me, staggering as she walked. A new fear gripped me. Something definitely wasn't right. With ever step towards me, her face seemed to distort, hollowing out and sinking away, like proximity to me was slowly killing her.

My body twitched, begging for permission to move, but I couldn't grant that wish. I wanted to dart inside, run to the safety of the restaurant's interior. I wanted to scream for someone to call the police, the ambulance, anyone... I wanted to scream for Luc... But I couldn't. I was only able to tremble weakly in my seat.

She came to a stop right beside my table, mere inches away, her ghastly face gaping down at me. Then she raised her bony arm, and reached for me. The fear was so overwhelming that it felt as if my heart might burst in my chest. It was like I was back in my old apartment, all over again, facing that horrible Beast formed of fire, and heat, and hate... Facing a fate worse than death...

Her fingers brushed against my arm, my scarred arm, and her searing touch shot through the numbness. If only this was a killing touch, the touch of death. I wished that she was the Grim Reaper, ready to take me away from this... The pain, the throbbing in my head, was too much...

Then she was gone.

The world erupted around me, the usual sounds of the neighbourhood pouring into my ears. I jumped from the shock of it. The cold withdrew, and a warm breeze soothed my goosebumps. My lungs burned as I gulped in air. I realized I hadn't been breathing for... How long had it been?

A hand fell on my shoulder.

I screamed, a piercing, terrified shriek as the fear from moments ago swelled up again. Had she disappeared only to sneak up behind me? I leapt from my chair, breathing heavily, and swung around, ready to face her.

But it was just Luc.

His hand hung in mid-air as he stared at me with wide eyes. I realized that everyone on the patio was staring again—including Hayden and his cronies—looking at me like I had gone crazy.

I certainly felt like I had.

"Rachel? Are you okay?" Luc said, his powerful green eyes, as bright as emeralds, shining down at me. His tone was hushed, but I could detect a little frantic edge. "You look like you've seen a ghost."