Astray

By Becca Lee Gardner

Something watches Blair Samson. Something follows her, hidden in the San Francisco fog.

That something is covered in human blood. That something knows much more about the hundreds of people missing from Chinatown than any of the newspapers.

And that something won’t stop meowing until Blair believes it.

In a thrilling mystery filled with drug lords, gang bosses, law enforcement, chocolate lovers, and one very intense cat, Blair might be the only one not led astray.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Becca Lee Gardner
• Release date: May 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370294091

Becca Lee Gardner

Becca Lee Gardner is an 8-time Honorable Mention Winner from the Writers of the Future contest. She writes novels, comic books, screenplays, and short stories. Her sci-fi horror novella, Mindstorm, debuted in December of 2021. If it's science fiction or fantasy with monsters in it, she's all in. When she's not writing, Becca walks for hours and hours, chasing the sunrise. She also plays intense rounds of Marvel Splendor and Star Wars: Battlefront with her three kids. Her favorite evenings are spent watching Korean zombie shows with her husband who jump-scares quite easily. Connect with Becca on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/beccaleeg And Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/beccaleeg/ (Photo cred: Norma Carver)

Book preview

Chapter 1

Voices thundered around them. The barista had to scream the names on the mugs, and even then the morning crowd was not all that responsive. They weren’t here for the coffee; they were locals hiding from the invading International Tech Convention crowds. The same people wouldn’t look at each other next week when the convention ended, but today they were joined in a unifying disgust of the outsiders.

Blair welcomed the cacophony of conversations. She wished it would drown out her own.

The door opened and for a moment the warm smells of coffee and hot buns were replaced by a whiff of the cold, salty, fish-carcass-and-garbage scent of the pier.

Blair squirmed in the lilac, turtleneck sweater. The fibers grated against her skin. Moving brought some relief and added misery simultaneously. She pressed her hands tightly around the smooth comfort of the cardboard cup on the table before her.

Simon sat across from her. He had a long face that made every expression a bit droll and solemn. You wore the sweater.

I hate it. It’s awful, Blair mumbled.

Simon cupped his ears. What’d you say?

Blair raised her voice: I’m not watching your stupid cat.

Simon’s face fell. You shouldn't project your anger on Titus. He’s not the one that hurt you.

You mean cheated on me, Blair nearly shouted the words. A few rumbling conversations around them quieted. The stupid cat did not cheat on me. That was my stupid fiancé.

Simon’s eyes darted about the room, noting the many conspicuous listening ears. We agreed on a time-out. Just to make sure you weren't making a mistake. Blair, I-I still love you.

Blair laughed, an empty, bark of a laugh. I still hate your cat. She stood and the sweater shifted across her skin for the last time. She pulled the thing off from over her head, wadded it up, and threw it at his chest. Enjoy Cambridge, Simon.

Blair pushed her way through the crowd and out the door. Two steps into the clinging, damp fog in only a tank top, and Blair felt a bit foolish. But there was a spring to her step, a quiet exhilaration at telling him off. She’d never said cheated to his face. He'd somehow always coaxed her into using indiscretion or human mistake. No. It was cheating. And cheating by any other name is still cheating.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Her hand moved to answer it by reflex, but she stopped herself. It was certainly Simon, and he was certainly going to use his choked-up voice, the one that couldn't get through the sentence, I need you, in less than a minute. He’d stutter and drag out each syllable until her own heart ached for his pain and she would say words she’d hate herself for saying.

It’s okay, Simon.

It’s not.

Everyone makes mistakes, Simon.

No.

Everyone loses their car keys. Everyone does NOT cheat on their fiancé three times—with three different women—two weeks before the wedding.

I still love you, too.

Did she? Was she really that weak?

You're right. We’ll be stronger for this.

Blair wrapped her fingers around her bear arms, ignored the vibrating phone, and pumped her legs faster up the small hill.

The small hill combined with a larger one. And, as was her luck since moving to San Francisco, her brisk stroll turned into a grueling hike. She wheezed a bit and the fog kept the sound close to her. She could faintly hear the hum of morning traffic and the static-like crash of high tide receding. All else was consumed by the sound of her own breath.

That fact alone made her head swing back and forth to compensate with sight what she lost in hearing. But the fog did a good job of smudging out the outlines of houses and iron fences and parked cars. The alleyways between the houses somehow looked like the dark maws that consumed young, beautiful girls in horror movies.

She did not consider herself beautiful, so she should be just fine.

She smiled as she sagged against an iron fence just beside one of the menacingly black alleyways. Her muscles ached from the rage-fueled exertion. Even her body was too weak to hold onto the rage for very long. Blair gritted her teeth and pushed away from the support of the fence.

Metal clattered behind her.

Blair fell back into a blue parked car. Her breathing came hot and fast. She whipped around to get a good look at her attacker as he, no doubt, sauntered from the black alleyway with a weapon—a knife maybe—and the cruelest expression.

But when she turned, gasping, and tensing for a fight, there was nothing but fog to assault her.

She searched the gray for a dozen panicked breaths before collecting herself and standing upright on the sidewalk once more.

It’s probably just a cat. She chuckled and then laughed and kept laughing harder and harder as she resumed walking along the sidewalk. She was still laughing when something moved from the black alleyway. Silent—its glowing eyes never losing her form in the fog.

It took a half a block for her laughing to die down. It took another two for her to sense the presence following her. At first the tingle at the back of her neck made her laugh again. When it didn't disperse with her logic and rationalizing, she walked a bit faster. When the presence grew nearer and near, she threw a glance over her shoulder.

Nothing. Only the gray San Francisco fog.

And the undeniable sensation of a hidden gaze upon her.

Blair darted across the street, fully aware that a car could hit her without enough visibility to even tap the brakes. She kept up the light jog down the next sidewalk.

On either side of her Victorian-style homes loomed. They seemed to grow out of each other, each version a new, and sometimes hideous, color from the last. Her focus was riveted on the blue one, two-thirds of the way down the row, and barely visible.

She reached the house, mounted the six stairs in two long strides, and jerked the keys from her pocket. She fumbled with the lock. Why were her hands shaking?

The keys fell from her hand. Before she could pick them up, the door swung open. Blair gasped and fell back on her butt.

Aunt Clara stood in the doorway, her wrinkled mouth worked into a frown. One arm held the door open and the other closed the flap of her nightgown and supported her aging bosom at the same time. Blair!

I’m sorry, Aunt Clara. I-I think someone—

That’s not coming in here until it’s washed up good.

What?

Aunt Clara released the flap of her robe and pointed past Blair. Blair turned to find a cat sitting two steps behind her. She startled one last time, clutching her chest in a vain effort to slow her heartbeat.

The cat didn't move. It had one blue eye and one golden brown and its gaze penetrated Blair. It was pleading with her, somehow. But not like an animal begging a human for food. It looked at her as an equal and what it wanted had nothing to do with food, shelter, or companionship. Blair fought back a shudder.

Go on and get yourselves on in. This chill makes me feel old.

Blair shook herself back to the present. She reached for the cat, averting her eyes from its multi-colored gaze. The cat’s long, smoky-white coat was marred with dark, sticky mud. She touched the mud and she jerked her hand back in an instant.

The mud was . . . warm.

She rubbed it between her fingers a moment and her heartbeat resumed its frantic hammering inside her chest. Her fingers were stained red. It wasn't mud at all.

The cat was covered in blood.

Chapter 2

Zhang Jing felt the warmth of her child as he slipped into bed with her. Good Morning, Jong.

The small boy caressed her face with a gentle hand. Zhang didn’t open her eyes. Her eyelids were heavy and her feet still throbbed from the night shift she ended only a few hours before. The sheets were coarse and much too thin to ward off the cold seeping through the apartment’s thin walls and the cardboard cutouts that stood in for the glass windows long since broken. There should have been another warmth, curled up on her other side beside her feet. But it wasn’t there. Where is Jet Li? Did you let him outside?

No. The men did. They won’t let him back in, Ma.

She opened her eyes and bolted upright. Is it Li Jie? Her whole body shuddered at the thought of the greasy landlord waiting for her, lust pulsing from his dark eyes. Demanding payment. Demanding payment in front of her son. I have money! A businessman gave me a generous tip. I can pay.

Jong gripped her arm. His touch soft and firm. It’s not Li Jie, Ma. They wear nice clothes. They know my name.

They know your name? Zhang Jing watched her breath leave her lips in opaque puffs. Her heart hammered. She put both of her hands on Jong’s shoulders. Sit here. I will dress and speak with them. Zhang Jing turned from her boy before he could see the terror work across her face. But he was always a perceptive child. She