Candy Houses

by Shiloh Walker

  The door creaked as we pushed it open. I recognized the girl from last night, although she hadn’t seen us yet.

  The other one had.

  It was—had been a teenage male. Seventeen, perhaps. Maybe eighteen, but not much older. His body was still in that long, somewhat awkward phase, and now it would look that way forever. Or at least until the orin died. He had one of those poetically beautiful faces, the kind that made teenage girls sigh with longing.

  His eyes—

  I swallowed and made myself look into those eyes. I didn’t like doing the dirty work, but I’d accepted it. I wouldn’t hide when I had to do it.

  The girl was seated on the floor, bent over one of the books. He sat next to her and stared at me over her bent head. As our gazes locked, he lifted a hand and rested it high on her back. There was a threat in his eyes, one I understood loud and clear. He didn’t have to say a word.

  His gaze dropped to the medallion I wore around my neck and a smirk twisted his lips.

  “I’m terrified.”

  The girl jumped as he spoke. Her head swung around and she glared at me. “You. What in the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?”

  “Get away from him,” I said softly.

  Rip stood beside me and as I spoke, I saw him move, saw him slip a hand into his coat. He pulled out the staff and twirled it in his hand. It danced there—like he was some sort of lethal baton twirler.

  “Lady, what in the hell is your problem?” she demanded.

  “Get away from him,” I said again.

  She stared at me, like I’d lost my mind.

  God, please…just get away from that monster. Don’t make me make you—

  The matter was decided for us, though. The boy reached for her and hauled her back against him. She shrieked, startled, then she whimpered. He was holding her with too much force, causing her pain. His fingers dug into her arms, squeezing with such force, I was afraid he might shatter bone.

  Even though I hated seeing her hurt, it was the best thing that could have happened, I guess. It caught her off-guard, which effectively pulled her attention away from that damn book. The adrenaline rush from the pain would hopefully clear her head a little.

  And if she caught a look at her boyfriend, it just might terrify her into running. I could handle her running. Then I’d just have the possessed boyfriend to deal with.

  “Let me go!” Her demands gave way to screams but all he did was tighten his grip.

  She whimpered again and finally, she looked over her shoulder at him.

  The orin was showing in Joey’s eyes—eyes gone black as onyx. Other than that, his features hadn’t really changed, but he looked other, at least to my eyes.

  The girl screamed again. Okay, so he looked other to her as well.

  “He’s got a demon inside him,” I said. I waited until her eyes came back to me.

  “A demon…” She sucked in a breath, shook it. I could see her trying to think past the fear and the pain. “You…what are you on?”

  “I’m not on drugs.” I shook my head and started to pace around the edge of the room. Rip did the same, mirroring my movements. He went left while I went right. The orin couldn’t defend itself against both of us and still hold onto the girl. “Neither is Joey. But he did get caught up in some very, very bad things.”

  “Shut up, Grimm,” the orin said, grinning at me.

  Grimm.

  It served as an unneeded reminder—I knew what I was. What we were. There are hundreds of us. Maybe even thousands. Fighting the good fight, doing what we can to help. We were put on this earth with a specific purpose—to deal with monsters like this. I focused on that, focused on the weight of the medallion against my skin as I watched him.

  I would save her. I hadn’t been put in her life for nothing. “Let her go, orin. If you let her go, you might live another couple of days.”

  “But she’s such fun…” He let go of one of the girl’s arms and trailed his fingers up, over her biceps, along her collarbone. He traced an “X” on her cheek. “I don’t want to let her go. I want to keep her, make another like me. Although it would be fun to just kill her right now, right in front of you.”

  “If I don’t get her away from you, she’s dead anyway,” I said, shrugging. My stomach clenched as I said it, but none of my turmoil showed on my face. I’d been doing this too long, dealing with his kind too long. I might be scared, I might be pissed, but I controlled it.

  “But if I kill her now, you won’t have a chance to save her.”

  “Saving her isn’t my main concern,” Rip said, joining the conversation as he moved to intersect us, using his body to hide me from the orin. “My main concern is getting rid of you…and the book.”

  The orin laughed. “Nice try, Grimm. You can’t really expect me to buy that you don’t care if I decide to gut her in front of you.”

  Rip moved closer. Closer. I stayed just behind him. Not sure what he was planning, but whatever it was, I was ready to improvise.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t care. I said she wasn’t my main concern.”

  Rip glanced down at the girl’s face as he said it, felt his heart twist. Despite the heavy makeup, despite the hard veneer she projected to the world, she really was just a girl. Eighteen, maybe a year or two older. And she looked utterly terrified.

  But demons knew how to exploit weakness and when it came to situations like this, showing any sort of fear or worry would definitely constitute a weakness.

  Instead of trying to reassure her, he focused on the orin who held her life in his hands. Rip was fast—it would take him just seconds to reach the demon’s human host. But a demon-possessed human could rival him for speed and it would take just seconds to snap the girl’s neck or rip her heart out.

  So he waited.

  He lifted a shoulder and shrugged. “I’ll save her if I can, but if I can’t… Hell, she brought this on herself. If she dies, it’s through her own actions. I’ll be satisfied with killing you, getting rid of the book.”

  The orin sneered.

  And backed away.

  The girl struggled against his hold and he gripped her neck, squeezing lightly. “Be still, bitch.”

  Tears gleamed in her eyes and she struggled harder. Terror was taking over. Low in her throat, she made animalistic little sounds and panted. She tried to jab back and hit him in the stomach with her elbow. All it did was irritate the demon.

  “Shut up,” he snarled, his voice deeper, rougher—utterly inhuman.

  “They don’t listen so well when they are terrified,” Rip said.

  The orin growled and locked his arm around her neck, squeezing until the girl’s eyes fluttered shut, until her body went limp.

  Finally.

  “Greta,” he said quietly, hoping she was ready.

  “Thank God. I was getting a little bored.”

  In a moment of perfect synchronicity, Rip dropped to the ground. Silver flew over his head. As the blade buried itself in the demon’s left eye socket, Rip grabbed the girl and jerked her towards him. The orin howled and reached up. He still fought, although the body he inhabited was dying. No…no longer dying.

  Dead.

  The heart no longer beat.

  The lungs no longer breathed.

  “They don’t make very good shields when they are unconscious,” Greta said, moving around to stand over the orin.

  The mouth moved—it was a macabre sight. “Fuck you, Grimm.”

  Even having seen a show like it before, it was hard to watch. The human’s body was dead, but the demon was still fighting to control it. Fighting to live—it was a useless fight. The orin couldn’t take over an unwilling body. It couldn’t touch Rip or Greta, and the girl—the one person that could have served as a host—was unconscious.

  “Knocking her out was just plain stupid.” Greta knelt down and grabbed her knife, drawing it away. She wiped the blade on the mortal’s shirt, leaving blood, brain matter and gore. “You didn’t really th
ink you’d get away from us, did you? But you had to go and put a sleeper hold on the one chick who could have taken you in.”

  “Fucking…bi…”

  Then it was gone. Just like that, the demon ceased to exist.

  “Well, that was fun,” Greta said. She stared down at the lifeless body at their feet, with a somber, unhappy look on her face.

  “Fun.” Rip moved to stand behind her, resting a hand on her shoulder.

  She lifted her knife and stared at it. Gently, he reached around and covered her hand with his, easing the blade back down. “It was too late for him. There was nothing we could do.”

  “We could have gotten to him sooner.”

  “And he could have not used the book.”

  In the end, it was that simple. The boy might not have understood just what he was getting into, but a demon tome felt wrong. The very promises the demons offered felt wrong.

  Somewhere inside, every potential host knew it was wrong. If they made the choice to do it anyway…

  “He made his choice, Greta.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Choices.

  That’s what it all comes down to in the end, I guess.

  I sat on the couch and watched the girl. She still hadn’t woken up. I don’t think she wanted to. Somewhere inside, she knew she was in a world of bad, bad things and she wasn’t ready to deal.

  Easy to understand.

  But still, I needed her to wake up.

  I needed to know how far she’d gone with the book, I had to look into her eyes and know—that was all I’d need. A look into her eyes, and I’d know if she had gone too far. If she had…

  God. Squeezing my eyes closed, I thought that one simple, powerful word and let myself pray. For a guardian angel, it was something I didn’t do often.

  If she was too far gone…

  I don’t want to think about that. Yep, I understand all about not wanting to deal. I sighed and leaned my head against the back of the couch. I was tired. I didn’t know if it was from the injury the other night or if it was just…everything.

  I felt stretched thin and I certainly didn’t feel equipped to handle whatever lay before me.

  How disgustingly weak is it of me to admit that it would actually be easier in the long run if she was too far gone? If I had to kill her and just deal with the grief and guilt?

  She was different.

  Something about this girl was different, and I had a bad feeling I knew what it was.

  It was something I didn’t want. Especially not right now.

  I wasn’t ready to take on the responsibilities that Mary had taken with me. Talk about pathetic. Talk about weak. Five hundred years of living and I still wasn’t ready.

  I found myself thinking about Mary, thinking about her and wondering. Had she been ready? I’d been younger than this girl when I’d be thrust upon Mary, and not only had she saved me from Hans and my stepmother, she’d been forced to raise me. Not to be just mentor, but mother as well.

  Closing my eyes, I let my thoughts drift. Found myself remembering…remembering a life that had ended long ago. A life where I had been called Gretel—

  Germany, 1520

  “I know this place. My father’s home is near.”

  Famine had spread across the land and many, many people went hungry. But Gretel lived happily in the small house in the deep of the woods. Every week, they walked to town with baskets of food that they gave to those in the most need. The baskets held bread and flour, sometimes some meat, eggs and seedlings.

  Gretel hadn’t ever asked Mary why they did this. Questioning Mary simply never occurred to her. Mary was like a mother to her—no, more. An angel. Her guardian angel. Mary taught her to read, taught her other languages, taught her kindness…and forgiveness.

  True peace cannot be easily found without forgiveness. Without true peace, one cannot be happy.

  If nothing else, Mary wanted Gretel to be happy.

  With her heart racing, Gretel stared through the trees to the house. Her hands were cold and clammy with sweat and her belly was a horrid tangle of nerves and fear. She wished to leave, run away and never come here again.

  Stricken, she looked at Mary and whispered, “Why are we here?”

  But Gretel already knew.

  “You know why.” Mary stopped and turned, looking at Gretel. “Your stepmother and your stepbrother haven’t fared well over the years. They have run out of food, out of money. Your stepmother is too ill to work and your stepbrother… Well, Hans never was one for a hard day’s work, was he?”

  Gretel swallowed. Her mouth was terribly dry.

  “You may give them that basket.” Mary nodded at the basket on Gretel’s arm. “You may walk away from them. It is your choice.”

  “What happens if I walk away?” Gretel asked.

  “They will starve,” Mary said simply.

  Gretel squeezed her eyes closed. The basket on her arm felt even heavier now and there was a bitter, ugly taste in the back of her mouth. “What should I do?”

  “I cannot tell you that, dear one. You must decide for yourself.”

  “But I do not know what is the right thing to do,” Gretel said, shaking her head. She looked at Mary and pleaded, “Please. You have been like a mother to me. You have taught me, you have cared for me, you have loved me. I’m asking you—what would please you more? Simply tell me and I will do whatever you ask.”

  “Gretel, I have loved you like a daughter.” Mary laid a hand on Gretel’s shoulder. “You have always pleased me. From the very first day you arrived on my doorstep, you have pleased me. And whatever choice you make, please know that I will not be disappointed. But this is your choice, and it’s one you must make for yourself.”

  Memories of the nights she’d cried herself to sleep haunted her. Nights when she had gone to bed hungry. Nights when she had gone to bed with her back aching from one of her stepmother’s beatings. Nights when she had lain in bed, hot with shame, sick with pain and tormented by the things her stepbrother had done to her.

  Leave them to starve, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. She never cared if you were hungry. She never cared if you were in pain. When you tried to tell her what Hans did to you, she slapped you and called you a liar. The world will be better off without them.

  Gretel shook her head. “But that is not my decision to make.” She lowered her eyes and studied the basket on her arm. There was food enough for a good week, if they were careful. As well as seedling plants, a bit of flour and salt.

  She took a deep breath and then looked at Mary. “I will give the basket to them. But I do ask that you walk along with me. I cannot go to that house alone.”

  They were not greeted with open arms. Gretel was not given any apologies for their treatment of her, although she knew they recognized her. But she had not done this for apologies and she did not wish for them to welcome her.

  She only wanted to give them the basket and then return home to the small house in the deep of the woods.

  “Your stepbrother follows us,” Mary said some time later as they walked along the path that would lead them home.

  Fear gripped Gretel. “He does? How do you know that? Why does he follow us?”

  “Now, Gretel, you are not a dim creature.” Mary gave Gretel a bland look. “Why do you think?”

  She patted Gretel’s shoulder and for some odd reason, that simple touch comforted her.

  “I told him, you know, when he left you with me that day, he was never to return to my home again. Never.” Mary sighed and reached up, toying with the silver medallion she wore. It was something that Gretel had never seen the woman without. She wore it always. “I so despise it when I am disobeyed.”

  Letting go of the piece of silver at her neck, Mary smoothed a hand down her skirt and then turned the lone basket over to Gretel. “Take this and go home. Whatever you do, you mustn’t come back here. No matter what you hear as you walk, you must go to the house. Do you understand me?”

&nb
sp; Gretel frowned. “Go home? But…I cannot leave you here alone, Mary. Come, let us hurry. If we hurry, we can reach the house before he gets close. We’ll be safe there.”

  “I do not fear him,” Mary said, reaching for Gretel and pulling her close in a hug. “He is no threat to me. Now, do as I say.”

  Gretel did not want to leave.

  But she could not make herself argue, not with Mary. Not with the woman who had been so kind, so good to her.

  She left. Even as part of her wanted to grab Mary, cling to her, she walked away.

  She walked away from Mary, following the path as it curved through the forest. Mere seconds passed before she heard him speak.

  Then Mary’s voice, clear as a bell, her words echoing around Gretel. “I told you not to come back here, Hans. You were warned and you ignored my warning.”

  Hans’ laugh echoed.

  The sound of it terrified Gretel down to her very bones. She heard the sound of branches breaking. A slap. The thunder started. A cold rain began to fall. It seemed only seconds earlier she’d seen sunlight filtering through the leaves. Behind her, she heard their voices, Hans’ hoarse bellow, underscored by Mary’s quiet, level tone.

  The wind began to whip through the trees, howling eerily.

  Gretel began to run. She ran so fast, and the farther she ran the more trouble she had remembering what she was running from. By the time she reached the small house in the deep of the woods, she had utterly forgotten why she ran, what had frightened her so.

  It would be years before she remembered that day. It would be years before she could think of it clearly.

  By the time Mary reached home sometime later, Gretel had already started preparing dinner and the two women sat down, as if nothing had happened.

  The following week, as was their custom, Mary and Gretel set off for the village. They hadn’t been there long when Gretel noticed how very many people were staring at her. Some appeared to offer her looks of sympathy, while others gazed at her with avid curiosity. Uneasy, Gretel smoothed a hand down her skirt.

  “Mary, do you know—”

  She was unable to finish her question, for at that moment, one of the villagers approached them.