Mabel had worked for Herman for two years. She'd gotten out of college with a degree in business, and had started at Herman's Herbs and Spices with the hope of learning more about running a small business.

While she had learned several tips and tricks of the trade, Mabel had also noticed something else: Herman, for every moment that he acted a bit ditzy, made an exceptional amount of money. Too much money, when one considered that most herbs and spices weren't exactly made of gold or highly desirable.

There were, of course, plenty of other "herbs" that brought in much more business and money—those particular herbs were also illegal. But Herman had never involved Mabel in his possibly-illegal business, and so Mabel never brought up the strange visitors that she sent to Herman's office. Nor did she inquire about why those visitors only stayed for minutes, then left with packages labeled with the words Sage and Bay Leaf—or some other unassuming spice—tucked under their arm.

On one particular Sunday, though, Mabel couldn't help but watch the man leaving Herman's office with a critical eye. It wasn't his impressive height, dark eyes, or shaggy hair that kept her curiosity piqued.

Instead, it was the way the shadows seemed to collect around him, dancing under his feet as he walked and vanishing abruptly as soon as the door shut behind him.

Although he hadn't even made eye contact with her, Mabel felt strangely naked, and goosebumps erupted on her skin. Suppressing a shudder, she ignored the sudden chill in the air and got back to wrapping up Mrs. Denall's order of Herman's Soothing Herbal Soothers.

She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched for the rest of the day.

***

"Mabel!" Suppressing a sigh, Mabel quickly shelved the just-delivered jasmine in its appropriate spot, before picking her way down the small ladder and trudging to Herman's office.

It wasn't as though she didn't like the man—he was actually a great boss, questionable business dealings aside—but she was ten minutes from closing down the store, and she really just wanted to go home and sleep.

"Hey, Herman," she greeted, pushing open his office door and stepping inside, "What's going . . ." the words died in her throat.

Standing directly behind her seated boss was the same man from a week ago, drenched in shadows and looking impossibly intimidating, his eyes a swirl of dark red and brown. "Mabel," Herman greeted with a nod, ignoring the man behind him, "I need you to fill out this order before you go." He held up a slip of paper with his cramped handwriting splayed across it, and Mabel took it with trembling fingers, her eyes never straying from the strange man.

"Mabel?" Herman's blue eyes were concerned, and his brows furrowed with confusion, "Are you alright?"

The unnamed man smirked, and Mabel snapped out of her daze, swallowing down the sudden bout of bile in her throat. "Y-yes," she spluttered, fingers clenching around the paper, "Everything's fine. I'll just, uh, get this done then, and head out, okay?" she struggled to keep her eyes solely on Herman's, her body trembling with the urge to scream, run, and never return.

Her boss nodded, but she could tell he was still worried about her. "That's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Mabel nodded stiffly, sparing the man dressed in shadows one more terrified glance before whirling around and practically running to the front of the shop.

"Oh, my God," she murmured, struggling to keep a solid grip on the glass containers as she filled in the order Herman had given her. "Oh, my God." She stopped, setting down the jar of ginger and grasping onto the counter.

"You're seeing things," she scolded herself furiously, knuckles turning white from her grip. "Too much curry powder or . . . or, something." Eyes clenched shut, Mabel said a silent prayer before opening them, letting out a relieved breath when there was no sign of the shadow-man.

Everything's fine, she chanted in her mind as she wrapped up the many jars, tucking them inside a paper bag and setting it atop the counter for Herman.

She sprinted to her car, sped the entire way home, and—for the first time—locked every single window and door leading to her apartment, the cynical voice in the back of her mind telling her that it wouldn't matter.

Whoever the shadowed man was, he didn't seem to need doors or windows.

***

One week later, and Mabel still went to work every morning, eyes wide and awaiting an appearance from the hulking shadow-man. But she hadn't seen him again thus far, and—against her better judgement—was beginning to relax once more.

Just some crazy hallucinations from lack of sleep, she decided, humming a song under her breath as she sorted out the money inside the register.

The clatter of pennies wasn't enough to distract from the voices coming from Herman's office, however, and Mabel closed up the register slowly. Stepping out from the counter, she crept around the corner, staying out of sight of Herman's door and holding her breath.

"This cannot go on any longer," a deep voice rumbled, "You know this will only end with pain."

Herman's voice answered, full of defiance, "Oh, shut up. That's a load of shit coming from you, you know that? I'm fine. Go 'save' someone else."

"You will endanger those close to you. You will crumble from the inside, with no hope of 'saving'. You will regret this decision, Herman." The foreboding in the unnamed man's tone was so thick Mabel felt her own heart fill with dread, even though she had no clue what the conversation was about, or who the other man was.

Unless . . .

But no, it couldn't be possible, right? Herman hadn't noticed the shadowed man the last time Mabel had seen him, so how could Herman possibly have a conversation with him?

Shaking her head and deciding it wasn't any of her business, Mabel tiptoed back to the register, carrying on with her sorting.

She swore she wasn't hallucinating when the temperature warmed, or when Herman came out of his office looking especially pale.

Not your business, she reminded herself vehemently, Give it time, and it will go away, but it's not your business.

With even more time, she hoped she would start to believe the lies she told herself.

***

A month passed, and Mabel was able to forget the strange man cloaked in shadows; she'd written the incidents off as peculiar, but there was surely a reasonable explanation (she was still reasonably convinced they had been hallucinations caused by a bad batch of curry powder).

It was a rainy Thursday afternoon, and the shop was empty, leaving Mabel to drum her fingertips against the countertop absently as she watched the few people outside scurry down the street. She had already gone through and organized the shop twice, so the only things left to occupy her time were people watching and napping.

The first option had gotten old after thirty minutes, which only left napping.

With a weary sigh, Mabel leaned forward, crossing her arms on the counter and laying her head on top. Just as her eyes began to droop, the door chimed, signaling a customer, and she shot up, the habitual greeting on her lips.

The words clogged in her throat when her eyes settled on a group of six men, all of whom fit into the category of Not-friendly! Mabel tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. "Hello, gentleman. Is there something I can do for you?" Her fingers twitched minutely, aching to reach into her back pocket for her phone.

The one closest to her (probably the leader), took a step forward. "I'm thinking so, darling. Is Herman here? We need to have a few . . . words, with him." The way he spoke convinced Mabel that "words" really meant "we need to beat him up for some reason" and she set her shoulders back, chin jutting out in defiance.

Herman was suspect, and these guys probably played a part in her boss's "side business," but Mabel wouldn't sell out anyone, even if Herman might have deserved it.

"Herman's not in today. I can take a message, if you want?" she was inwardly relieved when her face remained open and friendly, and her tone was steady.

The leader laughed, but there was no humor in it. He slipped a gun out of his pocket as though it were a piece of chewing gum, and Mabel felt her entire body go cold as he fingered the trigger casually. "I don't think so, darling," he sneered, showing off a set of stained teeth, "How about we try that again?" he stalked forward, spinning the gun in his hand before steadying it against her forehead as his feet halted on the other side of the counter.

Mabel swallowed unsteadily, lips pursed to stop a scream from escaping. "Now," the man hissed, leaning across the counter until his face was next to the weapon, his hot breaths fanning her cheeks, "Where is Herman? Either talk, or I'll pull this trigger."

Just as her resolve began to weaken, Mabel sucked in a sharp breath. Over the leader's shoulder, she spied the shadowed man, looming behind the group. Fear and relief warred in her stomach. On one hand, she didn't get good vibes from Shadow-man; on the other, she would rather the silent Shadow-man over the crazed gun wielder.

"Well?" The man asked mockingly, tapping his finger against the trigger and causing Mabel to wince. "Five seconds . . . four . . . three . . . two . . ."

He never got to "one."

Right as his lips formed the word, Shadow-man smiled, and the warmth in the room vanished, leaving frost on the windows and other men's eyebrows. The leader's eyes widened, his bottom lip quivering, and he dropped the gun as though it had seared him.

Together, the group of men turned, and the one nearest to Shadow-man spat a single word when he saw the intimidating figure.

"Shit."

The shadows converged around Shadow-man, then spun out all at once, covering the shop in total darkness and retreating just as quickly. In the shadows' wake, all six men laid on the ground, lips blue and eyes frozen in fear. Shadow-man stood in the center of the morbid scene, smile gone as he watched her intently.

Mabel stared at him for several long moments, then tore her eyes away to take in her surroundings once more. The frost still covered everything, and it was only after spying the blackness of the dead men's fingertips that Mabel realized something as she scrutinized her own skin.

She was still warm.

Stunned, she snapped her head up to demand answers, but Shadow-man was gone.

"What the hell just happened?" she asked the silent room, frustrated, terrified, and in need of a nap.

There was no answer, save for the dripping of frost as it melted onto the floor.

***

Later that night, Mabel sat in her cozy apartment with a mug of ginger tea clutched in her hands, her eyes staring blankly at whatever was playing on the television. She'd spent four more hours at the shop after the incident, explaining to Herman what had happened (save for her mysterious hero), receiving a lame-ass excuse about the whole thing being a "misunderstanding," and telling the older man that she was taking the next day off and he wouldn't have a problem with it if he didn't want the police involved—Mabel wasn't a warrior, but she knew how to manipulate.

With a sigh, Mabel set the tea on her coffee table, leaning back into the couch cushions and letting the various emotions wash over her.

Confusion. Frustration. Fear. Anger. Relief. More confusion.

All at once, the realization that Oh, God, I almost died today, slammed into her full-force, and she was sobbing a beat later, wiping at her face with the sleeves of her sweater.

She would have continued if not for the sudden growling by her shoulder. With a choked gasp, Mabel spun around, teary eyes wide as they soaked in Shadow-man standing over her couch, appearing furious about something.

"What is it?" his voice was deep and raspy, an exact replication of the voice she'd heard from Herman's office a month ago. "I do not understand. Those men are dead; they should not have been able to harm you."

"T-they di-didn't," she stammered, mind muddled as she tried to absorb what was happening.

He took a step closer, grasping her chin with one hand and twisting it side-to-side as though inspecting her for damage. Once he had finished his survey, his eyes narrowed. "Then why are you crying?" It wasn't so much a question as it was an accusation of sorts, and Mabel released a strangled laugh.

Because really?

Was this her life now?

Feeling something inside her snap, Mabel shot up from the couch, hands on her hips as she stood inches from Shadow-man. "I'm crying because I almost died! Not to mention that you've been creeping around for a month and a half, and that's really scary; I keep thinking you're going to jump out of a wall and murder me!"

Yanking back as if he'd been slapped, Shadow-man's lips curled in a snarl. "I would never murder you. I would also never let anyone else murder you. You are safe. Will you cease to cry, now?"

Mabel threw her hands up into the air. "Are you serious?!" When he only continued to stare at her blankly, she groaned, rubbing a hand against her forehead. "Fine. Yes. I will stop crying."

Shadow-man nodded once. "Good." He shifted on his heel, no doubt to vanish again, but Mabel had one last question.

"What's your name?" she wasn't sure why she asked, but there was some part of her that was interested in the strange man dressed in shadows. Besides, if he planned to keep popping up and scaring the life out of her, she might as well be able to call him by his actual name.

He paused in his stride, right foot hovering an inch off the ground. "Death." Then he continued, treading towards the far wall but disappearing before he ran into it.

It was only after he'd left, and her thoughts had calmed that Mabel truly absorbed what he'd said.

"Death."

"Oh, crap."

***