Bad Seed

by Gareth Vaughn

  Bad Seed

  By Gareth Vaughn

  Published by JMS Books LLC

  Visit jms-books.com for more information.

  Copyright 2018 Gareth Vaughn

  ISBN 9781634865890

  Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

  Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America.

  * * * *

  Bad Seed

  By Gareth Vaughn

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 1

  Of all the coffee shops he frequented, there was one Sean saved for those particularly difficult days, the ones where he had an overwhelming stack of papers to drag himself through, or a favor to do for a friend, or a pile of mail to address. Or something ridiculous to look up. And at nine in the evening on a Friday, Crypt Coffee was one of the few places still open.

  Situated on a tiny plot of land in front of the Old Blue Cemetery—itself clinging to the Blue Falls River—the coffee shop was all theme, from the faux-marble front to the dim interior. Coffee was served in ceramic skull mugs, and the options were named ridiculous things like Roast the Dead and Six Beans Under. Sean had other places he preferred, but Crypt Coffee easily had the best sweets. And Sean loved sweets.

  “Caffeine for you this late, professor?” asked the barista behind the counter. She’d been one of his students in a Greek Mythology 102 class last year, a trans woman who’d had to email him ahead of the semester and explain her name was Winter and not whatever the hell the school had given him. He liked her, as far as students went—although she’d always been exactly five minutes late like she timed it, she’d done all her work and spoke up in class. She looked like she was still into the goth aesthetic, long black hair and black lipstick making her skin look even whiter. It was a look that fit in well in the basement of Crypt Coffee.

  “I’m not that old yet,” he said, knowing thirty-nine was still ancient to someone barely twenty. “I’ll have a Grounds Keeper, two shovels.”

  “That means two espresso shots.”

  Sean knew what it meant. It was posted right above them on the sign. She really did think he was old.

  “Sure you don’t want a Drop Dead Decaf, professor?” asked the owner as he walked behind the counter with a plastic box of ceramic mugs straight from the washer. Sean glanced at him only briefly—Dane was good-looking and by virtue of not being one of his students, safe enough to admire even if he appeared to be in his mid to late twenties. He was tattooed and tanned, and seemed to be perpetually scruffy. A black shirt made him fit in well here, too, and his eyes were such a dark brown they almost hid his pupils.

  Still, Sean was not about to be kept from his highly-caffeinated beverage by anyone.

  “I have a lot of work to do,” he said.

  Winter nodded solemnly and rang him up.

  “I have a couple extra muffins that haven’t sold,” said Dane. He replaced the mugs so loudly, Sean was surprised none of them broke. “If you like streusel.”

  Sean nodded at Winter and she rang that up, too. Although it was a standard muffin, Crypt Coffee’s version never went light on the cinnamon, and Sean did come here for the sweets when he wasn’t coming here to escape running into someone he knew.

  Generally, if a student could catch him out at one of the coffee shops near the campus, he considered it unofficial office hours. His office at college was cramped and smelled weird, and the local shops had comfortable chairs and more air flow than your standard coffin. But tonight he wanted to be someplace where none of the other faculty would bump into him. He wanted to research something shameful.

  He set up at one of the tables with open coffins for seating, complete with plush red velvet cushioning, and pulled out his laptop. How someone as young as Dane could afford to build someplace like this was confusing, but mostly because Sean knew that meant Dane must come from money, and Sean would be lying if he didn’t admit to himself that was something he looked for in a potential mate. What he didn’t want to get himself into at this point in life was more debt. Of course, having his eye on Dane in the first place was probably a little presumptuous, but hell, Sean could dream he could still pick up young men if he wanted.

  It’s not like he really believed he could pick up anyone anymore. He was past his prime, fully set into his dull, overworked life, and up late alone on a Friday evening typing werewolves into a search engine. He knew exactly how much of a catch he was, and he was about to drown that knowledge in caffeine and buttery cinnamon.

  “Hey, Dane, it’s nine-thirty,” said Winter as she made up the Grounds Keeper, two shovels.

  “Clock out when you’re done with that and go fuck something up. It’s Friday.”

  Sean refused to look over at them, but opened his email to have something normal to check when Winter brought him his steaming skull mug. He smiled, thanked her, and waited until she’d left to pull up his werewolf tabs. He’d made the right choice—there was no one else at Crypt Coffee at this hour. Although its hours ran late, obviously there were few customers if Dane kept it going on his own.

  The clink of plate on table made Sean jump, but it was only the muffin. He looked up, right into Dane’s eyes, but the man looked perversely gleeful.

  “Did I scare you, professor?”

  “Of course not,” said Sean, grabbing his muffin and moving it to the other side of his laptop, more to claim it than anything. He had to look away from the smirk creeping over Dane’s face, and swallowed as Dane moved closer. He set a hand on the table and leaned in, just slightly closer than was acceptable.

  “Good. I like seeing you back in here again. It’s been a while.”

  “Didn’t realize you noticed,” said Sean. He hadn’t been to Crypt Coffee in nearly a month—and it had only been open four—but if Dane’s intention was to add to the mood by creeping Sean out, it wasn’t working nearly so well as he thought. Sean liked the attention.

  “‘Course I noticed,” said Dane. “I
notice everything that happens here.”

  Sean wasn’t sure what to do. Hide his werewolf pages? Seemed too late for that. Try to flirt? But Dane was already walking back to the counter. Sean shook himself, took a large gulp of coffee, and got engrossed in nonsense.

  That was what it had to be, right? He couldn’t have really seen a werewolf. That didn’t even make sense. He just didn’t know what he’d seen, and even though he’d tried to forget it, tried to move on, a week later and he still couldn’t get it out of his mind. He was having trouble sleeping, and he was concerned he was overreacting. No one else seemed to care a student was dead.

  Could be the result of the news. Sean scoured every article about the young man, only to find everyone reporting it as a tragic accident. But none of them had been there, on campus, last Friday night, like he had. None of them had been walking back to their cars through the small patch of trees, and none of them had seen a student get his throat ripped out by a—well, something. Something big, and fast, and canine.

  It had been a week and Sean had to know. He didn’t believe in things like werewolves—at least, he hadn’t thought he had—so mostly he was doing this to set his mind at ease. It had been late, and he was not as young as he used to be. The more outrageous the web made it seem, the more he could convince himself he’d misunderstood that night.

  He went through his coffee and muffin, held off using the bathroom until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and got up. On his way back he was going to order another coffee but saw Dane was cleaning the machines. Sean pulled out his phone and checked the time. Nearly one in the morning. Crypt Coffee was closed.

  “Got some old regular in a carafe,” said Dane, back to him. “Can’t promise it won’t kill you, but I’ll give it to you free.”

  “Thanks,” said Sean, bringing his mug and plate to the counter. “But aren’t you closed?”

  Dane leaned on the counter toward him and Sean froze.

  “Stay as long as you want, professor. Drink my shitty old coffee, screw your bedtime. Live a little.”

  “Uh, thanks,” said Sean, wanting to flirt back yet not sure still that was what Dane was doing. The few times he’d been in Crypt Coffee, the owner seemed to like making his customers uneasy. Probably as a gimmick. And Sean didn’t want to be so desperate he’d mistake an act for a possibility.

  Dane was right, this coffee was no good, but Sean drank it anyway. All the conflicting information about werewolves was bleeding together in his head and he knew he’d need to call it quits soon. It was barely one-thirty. Dane would probably laugh at him when he left. He glanced up, wondering where the owner had gone, seeing an open door toward the back of the shop. Back room. Inventory or some shit. Sean supposed life was dull for everyone everywhere, which was a severely disappointing thought this time of night. He turned back to his laptop, and that was when he saw the ghost.

  Sean blinked, pulled off his reading glasses, and rubbed his eyes, but the ghost hadn’t disappeared, only drifted farther across the coffee shop. He was gauzy and dapperly dressed, clearly from no recent period, and Sean briefly considered the possibility that Dane’s coffee had killed him. Or maybe he was asleep on the table. Whatever the case, he stood. He’d fled the night he saw the student murdered—he wasn’t going to run again.

  The ghost slid through the air like a fish, reality seeming to ripple slightly around him. Sean followed him to the open door to the back room and hesitated when the ghost entered. If he called to Dane, warned him of a ghost, and he was just seeing things, he doubted Dane would ever let it drop. Sean entered.

  He was at the top of a set of stairs, and below was well-lit. He tried to descend quietly but every step he took opened up just a little more of a view of what was down here, and it wasn’t bags of coffee beans.

  It was weaponry. Probably a full metric fuckton of it, too. Silver-tipped spears, shining blades, and coiled chains all hung on the walls. The hair on Sean’s arms and neck stood on end. Torture? Kink? He licked dry lips with a dry tongue, and then footsteps approached behind him at the top of the stairs. Sean turned and saw Dane, and he did not look happy.

  “Sorry,” he said as Dane glowered. Sean immediately turned and went back up the steps. “I thought I saw…”

  “What?” asked Dane. Sean had to stop on the top step since Dane hadn’t moved. The man was taking up the entire doorway. If Sean leaned any closer they’d practically be embracing.

  “Nothing. You’re right. I’m up past my bedtime.”

  Dane snorted.

  “Could you move?” asked Sean. Dane was looking him up and down, judging him, so he tried to take a step forward.

  Dane kissed him. It was nothing special—closed mouthed, rough, and brief—but it was unexpected, and when Dane let Sean stumble past back into the coffee shop, he turned and stared at Dane.

  “Weird shit happens late at night,” said Dane. His voice was gruff. “Go home, professor.”

  Sean gathered his things and went home.

  Chapter 2

  “The fuck I tell you about coming around while there’s customers, Ned?”

  Dane didn’t bother waiting to see the professor’s car leave before stomping down the stairs into the large room he affectionately termed “the Lair.” He scowled at the ghost, who hovered, examining a set of silver-coated hunting knives, but the look passed through him. Ned was very dead and very hard to intimidate.

  “Figured that one was fine. I saw what he was looking up.”

  “Werewolves?” asked Dane, crossing his arms and leaning against the railing. “Probably dipping his toes into some kink and doesn’t want any of his peers to know about it.”

  “Oh, he’s not with you?”

  “No,” said Dane, hearing the snarl in his voice. “He’s not.”

  Ned stroked his chin and put his ankle up on his opposite knee, leaning back like he was sitting in an invisible chair. Damn, that looked comfy.

  “Huh,” he said, like he was trying hard to think that was interesting.

  “I had to handle it. Again. You could try to pull your weight for a change,” said Dane, hoping the professor would go home and doubt his memory in the morning. He already looked to be into some shit if he was trying to inconspicuously research werewolves on all the wrong sites; there was a chance he’d forget he’d seen a ghost after Dane kissed him.

  “I pull more than my weight.”

  “Yeah, funny, Ned. You’re weightless.”

  Ned spread his hands and grinned. Dane glared at him. As far as assistants went, Ned was all right. Better than the Order giving him a familiar like they wanted. Dane still got the feeling from them that he was one good fuck-up away from being sent a familiar anyway, since Ned wasn’t technically one of theirs, but rather a ghost who’d more or less come with the land.

  “You want me to take care of him if he comes back?” asked Ned. He was serious. Dane still didn’t know the extent of what Ned could do and that made him wary, but he wasn’t about to admit either of those things.

  “No. He might not come back.”

  “Kiss him that hard?”

  “Shut up. I happen to like men. Problem?”

  “Not for me,” said Ned. “Didn’t think you were into the intellectuals.”

  “I’m not,” said Dane, then, “Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Ned started laughing. Dane moved to the shelves behind the stairs where he kept the booze and pulled out a bottle of rye. He unscrewed the cap and drank once, twice, then motioned to Ned with the bottle.

  “The hell are you even here for?”

  Ned grew serious and lost his relaxed pose. Dane didn’t like the look of that—it meant shit was brewing. The Order had sent him here to Bleu Falls, Wisconsin after he’d fucked up pretty badly in Minneapolis, mostly for his own protection. Turned out this out-of-the-way excuse for a city had a cluster of magical nexus points—possibly even a large one, it was hard to say as there was evidence they were fucking moving—and the Order coul
d always use another Decrypter to keep an eye on a place like that. They’d funded construction and establishment of Crypt Coffee and Dane had hauled his weapons and a couple bags of clothes over for a new start.

  Most of what he’d dealt with so far was spirit-related. You got a lot of ghosts right next to a cemetery. Ned was helpful mainly with that, although he often had random information and Dane couldn’t figure out where the hell he’d gotten it. He never cared to say, either.

  “Getting another problem grave,” said Ned. Dane took a drink and glared at him to continue. “Out near the three pines. Not a recent one, either—she’s been dead almost as long as me. Eliza Bartley, rest her soul, refuses to keep resting her soul.”

  “Specifics? What are we looking at? Possessions, undead, whatever the hell you are but evil…?”

  “Who’s to say I’m not evil?” asked Ned, and grinned. His face pulled too wide and stretched into a gruesome look. Dane was unimpressed. He took a final drink and replaced the rye.

  “I am. I don’t like you I’ll send you on.”

  “I’d say I’d like to see you try, but here doesn’t seem the place.”

  “Damn right it isn’t,” said Dane, pulling the hunting knives down and examining them quickly before strapping them on. Ned would be a colossal idiot to make him angry in a room full of weapons. “Well? Am I going to need anything special for our dear deceased Eliza or what?”

  “Doubtful. She’s normal. Apart from the ceasing to stay put.”

  “Normal,” said Dane, growl to his voice. “You say everything’s fucking normal.”

  “It is to me.”

  “Yeah, well, the Order had to pull some strings last time you said that one guy was good and normal, only he’d stopped friggin’ rolling in his grave because he’d possessed those pigeons. That kind mommy reported me—I could’ve gotten arrested.”

  Ned drifted back toward the stairs.

  “I never said gut them in daylight. And this one is normal. Last I checked, Eliza was coming up. Dirt’s churned around. Standard ghost-using-remains-to-rend-themselves-through-spacetime. She doesn’t want to stay put on the other side.”