Benkau Nybbas Dreams

1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-3-86443-367-2
Verlag: Sieben Verlag
Format: PDF
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 141 Seiten

They call him Nicholas, but nobody has any idea who he really is. He is stunningly handsome, but his charm leaves a lot to be desired. His touch is just as irresistible as his shadow can be deadly. He is a creature that only knows one enemy: The Clerica, demon hunters, who have chased down, captured, and killed his kind for centuries. After a bitter blow of fate, Joana lapses more and more into apathy and only notices how dear life really is to her when Nicholas seriously endangers the same. For inside the body of this fascinating man Nybbas is hiding, a demon who feasts on emotions and loves nothing more than to play with his victim. After their fateful encounter Joana finds herself caught between good and evil. And she is forced to make a tough decision ...

Autoren/Hrsg.

Benkau, Jennifer

Weitere Mitwirkende

Schiffmann, Andreas

Leseproben

2   Joana’s mother had invited her for lunch, so she drove her own taxi there. Though she had turned off the light on the roof, showing the car was occupied, several pedestrians tried to flag her. Some angrily railed against her as she regretfully shook her head. Clients were usually not the most understanding people, but she still loved her job. Dashing through the traffic of Hamburg with her Passat gave her an illusion of freedom. Chats with constantly shifting strangers remained superficial, yet at least she could persuade herself that they satisfied her need for social contact, which in her private life often fell by the wayside. Of course, there were people she liked being around, but apart from her relatives, these had always been few and far between. The fact that she had withdrawn even further after Sascha's death and hardly exchanged more words with anybody than a minimum of courtesy demanded, continued to narrow down her circle of friends. Joana could not say that she took it to heart, and this was just what kept unnerving her: She should take it to heart. Her carelessness bordered on serious depression. Maybe Sascha had taken much more of her with himself into his grave than she thought, or these parts of her were simply buried too deeply within her soul. How ironic that although she’d been studying psychology, the murder of her boyfriend had caused her whole life to collapse like a house of cards. Joana snorted, shook her head and put a stop to melancholy. She was disgusted by her own self-pity. Three years had passed since Sascha's death, so it was time to take off the black veils and see clearly again. At least she must try. To avoid starting over once again with the resolutions that she had made all too often, she grabbed her cell phone at the next red light and sent a text message to her colleague Benedikt, asking whether his invitation to the movies was still valid. After she had sent it, she wondered how long ago it was that Ben had asked her. Quite likely one or two months. A car behind her honked. Joana shook off the thought and stepped on the gas. When she arrived at her mother's house, the door was already wide open, indicating that Mary was so busy in her kitchen that she couldn’t even allow for a short interruption to answer the door. For decency's sake, Joana knocked but didn't wait for a reaction. As she stepped into the kitchen, she was surprised that her mother wore her colorful African dress and a matching headscarf for cooking. Every time Mary pulled the traditional garments from her parents' home country out of the wardrobe, this meant mean that her sister-in-law, Aunt Agnes, was visiting. She wanted to display as much of African-American culture as possible to provoke and chase her away. Mary had never put a foot onto the African continent. She had grown up in New York, where she met Joana's father during one of his trips and fell in love with him. They didn't think twice and married right there in the States only a few weeks later, much to the chagrin of Joana's grandfather–who promptly disinherited her dad. “Hi, Mama.” With an inward sigh she kissed her mother's forehead and glanced into the living room. “Your aunt is in the bathroom”, Mary grumbled with a welcoming pat on her daughter's hip before she nudged her aside to return to the stove. Joana suppressed the impulse to roll her eyes and without speaking began to set the table. Why oh why was it impossible for two women who were family to lead a normal conversation? If contact was unbearable for both of them, they'd be better off avoiding each other, but no, Agnes invited her time and again, so Mary gritted her teeth, put on a smile and did the cooking–for Agnes, yet boiling inside as well. “Joana! Darling, let me give you a hug!” As usual, her aunt was fulsome in her greeting when she rushed in. The plates nearly slipped from Joana's hands. After the exuberant embrace, Agnes pushed her back a bit and scrutinized her from head to toe with sharp green eyes, a quasi-ritualized behavior that never failed to make shivers run down Joana's spine. Unlike her mother, she liked her aunt–yet couldn't altogether deny the fact that she felt a bit uneasy about Agnes. You couldn't meet her gaze without feeling as if your innermost being was revealed and you gave away more of yourself than intended. That Agnes generally asked the wrong questions–or exactly the right ones–didn't help matters either. “How are you? What's up with your dreams, child?” Joana knew she couldn't lie to Agnes. That had gone pear-shaped all too often in the past. “Same as usual.” Agnes touched the hazelnut-sized amber she wore on her necklace. It cast a brownish gleam from inside. Even as a child Joana had wondered what it was, but her aunt had merely smiled every time she addressed it. “We haven’t seen each other in far too long, my dear,” Agnes reprimanded, and Joana had to admit that she was right. Their most recent get-together dated back almost a year, though Agnes lived in Schwerin, less than two hours’ drive from Hamburg. She wondered when her aunt's curly hair had greyed so much, as she seemed to remember that during their last meeting, it had still been dark brown. When Mary entered the room with the dishes, Joana was grateful for the distraction and hurried to finish setting the table. “An African specialty,” Mary stressed after they had seated. Joana couldn't tell whether she grinned at Agnes or bared her teeth. In order to avoid an awkward silence, she took to entertaining the two single-handedly as usual. She related some anecdotes from her passengers, feigned indignation about her nosy neighbor, praised the chicken and at last resorted to virtually desperate remarks with respect to the weather. It was ridiculous. Her mother rolled her ivory amulet between her fingers, assuming an impertinently challenging air you could almost smell. In reply, Agnes offered her stoic composure. She gave a false laugh and looked over the rim of her glasses, repeatedly frowning at each untidy corner in the cozy living room. She did not even try to act as if she felt comfortable. It was a silent trial of strength. Joana had known this performance since her childhood, found it silly and unnecessary for about just as long. Her mother was firmly convinced that Agnes had never deemed her worthy enough of Frederik and linked this assumption to her African roots. On the other hand, Agnes felt insulted by covert allegations of racism. Neither of the two women was ready for dialogue. Joana assumed that over the years, they had become so fond of their animosities that they were no longer willing to set them aside. She did not dare to judge which of the two was in the right. It was obvious that Agnes didn't respect Mary, but Joana refused to link this to the color of her skin. After all, she herself did not have any problems at all with Agnes. As she was a biracial child, her complexion wasn't as dark as her mother's. However, with her large, black-brown eyes and the wave-like lines that gave shape to her forehead, temples, cheeks and chin, she looked her spitting image. Also, the fact that each piece of chocolate she ate went to her hips was due to a proclivity she had inherited from her mother. Her father’s genes had merely made her grow taller by a head than Mary. Her love for music and fast cars could also be attributed to Frederik Sievers. Joana gave a voiceless sigh and refused to ask herself what her father could have bequeathed to her apart from that. Maybe the inclination to space out into pointless brooding. Agnes left for home right after dessert as she always did. She had hardly closed the door when Mary tore off her headdress and sighed with relief. “I pray to God on my knees for the day to come when she'll be weary of us.” Joana disapprovingly clicked her tongue. “You could just tell her that you don't want her to visit you anymore.” “Indeed I could”, Mary agreed with a flat voice, suggesting this was not as easy as Joana would have it. “Seriously, Mama: Agnes may come to me and have dinner for once, or I go and visit her. Why we always have to meet at your place even though you find it unpleasant is beyond me.” Mary wanted to answer but quickly closed her mouth again and rubbed her brow. For a moment, she seemed concerned and looked older than she was. Then she shook her head and showed Joana the smile she liked so much. “We should just forget it. Judging from experience, she won't call for months on end. Come, we'll see how much of this dessert we can still gobble down before we get sick.”   *   “Mr. Nyrr?” His secretary Christina's monotonous voice made Nicholas look up from his newspaper. “The test results have arrived.” He would have liked to read from her reaction whether the account was more promising than the most recent ones, but her features had long since become devoid of expression. This annoyed him, though the part of him which he calibrated...