A/N: I love how the specifics of this chapter just poured out while I was writing. I'm very happy with how it turned out. I can promise that Edward will make an appearance in the next chapter. Happy Friday!

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Chapter 4 - Clandestine Evil

"NO!"

A man's voice shouts so loudly that I startle and whirl around, looking for the source. But I don't see anything out of the ordinary. Everyone is at their desks typing away or shuffling papers quietly. Heidi has gone back to her office on the other side of the floor and is nowhere to be seen.

I frown. Was I hearing things now? That didn't bode well for my sanity. I stare out the window at the far end of the space, snow is still flurrying outside. I knew it had to be a bad omen.

I turn back around, eyeing the door to James' office. His blinds are shut and I can't see inside. I feel uneasy. Heidi seemed so tense earlier. What had she been so concerned about? My hand hovers over the door - poised to knock.

"Don't." Low, pleading, luscious, sultry. Tenor right in my ear, so close. Impossibly close. No one is standing remotely close to me. Hairs stand up on the back of my neck. What is going on?

"Don't," repeats the voice. Yet it feels further away now. Distant as if miles away… I know I won't see anything but I whirl my head around anyway, trying to pinpoint the source. Nothing. I sigh. I must be going mad.

Tap, tap, tap. I knock sharply three times - ready to get my torture over with. As long as I wasn't getting fired I could handle anything. If only I could be sure I wasn't getting fired.

"Come in." The voice is pleasant. Calm and inviting.

I push the heavy wooden door forwards and step into James' office. It's dark in here. The floor to ceiling curtains are drawn, but there are some low light lamps scattered about. They scatter warm pools of light across James' face. He's dressed less professionally than I expected. A simple button down with the top two buttons undone and dark jeans. I can't quite make out if they're black or just a very dark blue.

"Sit, make yourself comfortable." There it is again, the uncannily pleasant tone. I shiver a little, but take a seat in the indicated chair. It's plush - much too plush for an office setting. I sink into it against my own will. I feel trapped and my heart starts to race. I try to focus on keeping my breathing even.

He's staring at me. Cold gray eyes peering deep into mine. Saying nothing, he clasps his hands together at the edge of the mahogany desk in front of him. I stare back but get the sense that that is rude so lower my eyes a fraction. I can see the corner of his lips curve upwards into a smile. Not able to help it, my gaze drifts upwards again, trying to understand what's going on. He called this meeting - what is he waiting for?

Several more moments pass and I feel the need to say something. Anything to break the silence. He's still staring at me, the faint edge of a smile tugging at one corner of his lips. His smile grows imperceptibly wider and I see a hint of pearly white teeth. I fight back a flinch.

"Uhm… I apologize for my lateness today - I just had some issues with my alarm. I promise it won't happen again and -"

I cut off abruptly. He's holding up a hand - palm facing toward me. A clear sign to stop. That incredibly pleasant smile is still ghosting his lips and I feel like I want to scream.

"Isabella," he begins. The soothing tone is like nails on a chalkboard to me. "I did not bring you here to discuss your hours. Heidi can handle matters like that." He waves a hand dismissively toward the office beyond the wall to my right.

"I called you here to discuss a … special project that I'd like you to head."

I blink. Thoroughly confused. This is not at all where I thought this conversation was going to go.

"Do you see that gold book on the shelf there behind you? Could you bring it to me, please?"

I turn confused, and spot a bookshelf at the back of the office. The structure is built into the wall - mahogany again, I guess. The rich hue of the wood glints a little in the low light. I look back at James a little unsure, and he nods helpfully toward the shelves. I get to my feet awkwardly and approach the shelf, looking for the gold book he had mentioned. My eyes sweep over the collection and my eyes widen. The novels here have wonderfully intricate bindings and they look … old. I make out some names in old lettering: Dickens, Hemingway, Austen. I wouldn't be surprised if some of these were first editions.

I come upon an unmarked book - the cover is painted in uneven strokes of gold. It shimmers a little as I approach.

"Yes, that's the one. Bring it here, please." That voice again - so calm, so collected. Yet there's an undertone of something. Excitement?

I reach out to collect the book in question, but immediately yelp and pull back.

"Ouch!"

Instinct has me bringing the fingers of my right hand up to my chest, rubbing them, trying to ease the feeling. Pain. So sharp I was surprised to find that there was no blood. My mind is fuzzy from it even in the aftermath. It had felt like every nerve ending was on fire.

"Is something wrong?" I turn back to James who's waiting patiently behind me. His expression is still perfectly polite. I stare at him for a moment, recovering. He waits calmly and my mind is whirring, trying to make sense of the situation. What did he know about what had just happened? I scramble for something to say.

"No, no it's just static." But I'm lying. No static shock I'd ever heard of could feel like that. In fact, I'm quite sure I've never even experienced anything even remotely this painful before. The ache of it still pulses through my fingers and I'm … scared, I realize, to reach for the book again. But that's crazy, I tell myself. I need to just grab it and get this meeting over with.

My fingers reach out tentatively. This time I'm paying better attention, and as my fingertips get closer to the book, I see it. There is a thin layer of light along the entire length of the shelf. What I thought before had been the shimmering of the book, had really been the shimmering of this light. Was that what caused the pain? I pause just a hair's breadth away from it, not wanting to touch it.

But then, almost imperceptibly, the book moved. Not much. If I hadn't been staring intently, I would have missed it. I was sure that James couldn't have seen. And I was abruptly very sure that this was good. The gold novel in question was now pushed forward, just a fraction, outside of the shimmering light. I must be going crazy what with books moving of their own accord and voices in my head.

Carefully, so carefully, I reached out with the edge of my pointer fingernail and hooked it into the binding just beyond the layer of shimmering light. I didn't feel any pain. And I slowly, painstakingly pulled the book out and away unscathed.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face him, my prize clutched in my hands triumphantly. His polite smile was still frozen on his face, but I could see something in his grey orbs. Something like … rage.