Secretly Sam by Heather Killough-Walden Page A

their butterfly-like ways out the window and into the night, she realized what was happening. This was her writing, the exact kind of writing that had given Sam Hain corporeal form a little over a week ago. The words on the pages told tales of forbidden romances between women who dared to dream of something darker – and powerful men who fulfilled that darkness to perfection.
    Now those stories were flying right out of her room and into enemy hands.
    With a start, Logan rushed forward, but the mad swirl of pages around her threatened to rip her to paper cut shreds. One sliced across her forearm, another across her cheek. She shielded her face with her hands and backpedaled. The stories continued to fly out the window, and finally, as the wind began to die down, Logan made one final effort at salvation.
    She lowered her hands, uncovering her face, and rushed forward once more, making a grab for the last of the pages moving toward the window.
    She caught them, clutching them tight in desperate fingers. The pages pulled and yanked and vibrated as if they were live, terrified insects willing to sacrifice a wing in order to stay alive.
    They began to rip, and Logan adjusted her grip, crumpling the pages between both hands until they were tight balls. As if in angry retribution, the windows to her room slammed shut, the glass vibrating dangerously in its panes.
    The air calmed. Her curtains settled.
    Logan stood still, her heart hammering, her lungs working overtime. She peered beyond the glass at the pure, unfathomable darkness. There was no sign of her lost pages, no sign of the red eyes that had gazed in at her before.
    All that remained were the half-empty drawers of her dresser that yawned open at haphazard angles, and the crumpled bit of story she clutched tightly in her fists.
    Logan looked down. Slowly, and with shaking fingers, she un-folded the sheets of paper. There were two pages, taken from one of her favorite parts in what had always been one of her favorite stories.
    About Halloween. In all of its dark, magical glory.
    *****
    There was no answer. The phone continued to ring in her ear. Logan bit her lip, ran her free hand roughly through her hair, and turned in a nervous, helpless circle. Her bedroom looked pretty much the same now as it had before the attack of whatever it was that took her stories, but the event had been noisy. She couldn’t believe neither her parents nor her brothers or sister had awoken. She’d even gone down stairs to check on them.
    Once she’d seen that they were still sleeping soundly, she’d come back upstairs, gotten dressed as quickly as she could, and called her history teacher. He wasn’t picking up.
    “Come on!” she hissed. Mr. Lehrer had wanted her to call him just to check in anyway, never mind that she absolutely needed to talk to him now. Where was he? Why wasn’t he answering?
    Logan hung up and re-dialed. Again, the phone rang until it decided to go to voice mail. Logan shut her eyes tight, fighting for control of her fear. This time, when the beep came, she left a message. “Mr. Lehrer, it’s Logan. Something has happened. All of my stories are gone. Sam’s taken them. Something’s really wrong. I’m calling Katelyn and Meagan now. Please call me as soon as you get this!”
    She hung up and dialed Meagan’s number, figuring that the young witch would most likely either be with Mr. Lehrer or would know where he was. But Meagan didn’t answer either.
    Logan suppressed a growing terror that threatened vomit-inducing nausea, hung up, and prepared to dial Katelyn’s number. However, before she could, a text message chimed through, blanking out her phone’s screen.
    Logan stared down at it while the blood drained from her face.
    Train tracks, Logan. You know where, and you know when. Better hurry, my beauty. Before your crush is crushed. LOL - Sam
    Logan took a second to process the words she read. And then, as her stomach turned to lead and her heart climbed her