Copyright © 2013 Christle Gray
Cover Art by Kendra Egert and Christle Gray
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, faxing, forwarded by email, recording or by any information retrieval and storage system without permission of the publisher or author, except where permitted by law, as this is an infringement on the copyright of this work. Brief quotations within reviews or articles are acceptable.
Author’s Note. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to a person or persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Praise for the Hell House series…
Holiday Hell House:
“This story is a cute yet very unusual Christmas tale… I want to know more about what happens to the characters in this story after this adventure.” – Four Angels from Fallen Angel Reviews
Fairy Fury:
“This book is an exceptional read. I was drawn in from the very first page. This action packed adventure had me on the edge of my seat waiting to see what would happen next…” – Four Cups from Coffeetime Romance
Vampires Don’t Dance:
“I love this young adult series and fully recommend all the books…” – bestselling author, Crystal-Rain Love
Holiday Hell House
Hell House Series Book One
By: Christle Gray
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to my little sister, Amber, who when I told her about what I was writing, responded with “Your brain is awesome!” I love you, sis.
Acknowledgement s:
Special thanks to fellow author Crystal-Rain Love for always making time to give great feedback and encouragement, even when her own world is brimming with chaos.
Chapter One
“You’re doing it all wrong! Danielle, tell him he’s screwing it up!”
I shot a long-suffering look in Sora’s direction. Her scowl spoke volumes, made even more dramatic by the midnight black lipstick that always outlined her pouting lips.
“I’m hanging ornaments on a tree. How can I be screwing that up, your highness?” Derrick, the cause of Sora’s irritation now and most days, pulled another red globe from the box he was holding and dangled it in front of his face.
I took a deep, calming breath. “Guys, can’t you please call a cease fire long enough for us to decorate the Christmas tree? Is that too much to ask?” My gaze bounced back and forth between the two teens, a silent prayer for peace at the ready.
Sora toyed with the small silver lip ring she wore, her scowl deepening. “Then tell dog-boy to stop hanging all the red ornaments on the same side. It’s making the color scheme unbalanced.”
Derrick laughed and placed the ornament in his hand next to the one he’d just put on the tree. “Like you’re one to talk about color schemes. All black. All the time. Even your own people got tired of it.”
Sora tugged absently at the hem of her black leather miniskirt, then her hand fluttered to twist one of the spikes of her jet black hairdo.
“Derrick…” I managed to infuse my voice with just a hint of warning.
“What? It’s true. All the other fairies kicked her out of fairy land because they were tired of her depressing butt. And her bossiness.” He set the box of ornaments on the dining room table to his right.
Sora had been banished by her people ultimately because she refused to fit in. But that didn’t mean he needed to point it out to everyone. Repeatedly.
Silence filled the room for a long moment that I feared would ruin the little holiday spirit I had managed to dredge up with a bit of tree decorating. I glanced over at Sora and found her black lipstick scowl replaced by a smirk.
“You’re one to talk, disowned by your own pack.” Her gaze flicked to me. “We’ll have to keep a good eye on the Christmas tree, Danielle. The mongrel might decide to pee on it, given the manners he seems to lack.” Her dark eyes glinted with scorn.
Derrick ran a hand through his dark blond hair, leaving it ruffled and messy. His amber eyes sparkled mischievously as he crossed his arms over his t-shirt clad chest. “Nah, I took care of that already in your closet.”
Sora’s expression froze for a moment, then her eyes widened. “You didn’t!”
Derrick shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to see for yourself.”
Snorting in disgust, Sora stalked away, her heavy black boots pounding the floor. She practically flew up the stairs, muttering who knows what curses under her breath.
I peeked over at Derrick, smugness oozing from him. “You really shouldn’t goad her like that. It only makes things worse.”
A small shriek sounded from the upper floor. Rolling my eyes, I frowned at Derrick’s grinning face.
“She should just be glad I shifted into a dog first.” He sauntered into the living room, leaving me to finish the tree.
Sighing, I picked up the box of forgotten red ornaments from the table. These kids were going to be the death of me. Six months as director of Hellsner Halfway House For Troubled Paranormal Teens and I was afraid I wouldn’t make it through another six days.
When the supernatural community finally came out into the open last year, they brought with them the same types of problems we humans had. Their children had the same issues, and placing kids into normal human foster homes or facilities proved to be dangerous to both sides at times, making places like Hellsner House a necessity.
I hummed as I straightened a line of garland and fluffed a few branches on the tree. So many years had passed without a real Christmas tree to decorate or a real home to decorate one in. I inhaled the deep musk of the pine, and stooped to retrieve a small cardboard box, the corners bent, the side slightly caved in. I pried open the flaps and carefully lifted a bundle of yellowed, crinkled, tissue paper—slowly peeling the layers away.
My breath caught in my chest as I stared at the angel in my hands. The paint on her porcelain face was chipped, her golden dress wrinkled and tattered. But none of that mattered. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
The feathers of her wings lay brittle and uneven along her back, but I traced their outline lovingly with my fingertip. My parents and sister had been killed in a car accident when I was a child. After bouncing around my entire adolescence from foster home to foster home, my angel was the last tangible thing I had left from my family.
Pushing back the tears that burned behind my eyes, I turned toward the living room. “Carlton, could you come help me for a moment?”
A loud grunt supplied my answer, Carlton’s usual response. I raised my head to see the boy’s face as he lumbered into the room, ducking his head as he plodded through the doorway. His large brown eyes studied me silently, the floor vibrating with his steps.
I handed him my angel. “Could you put this on the top for me? And be careful, she’s very old.”
Carlton took the angel from my hand, his fingers curling gently around her, being as cautious as he could for someone his size. I watched as he placed my girl on the top of the tree, touched by his gentleness.
Carlton was an ogre, so he stood about eight feet tall. His family had been killed in the mountains of the Himalayas. He was rumored to be the last known ogre alive. My first resident here at Hellsner House, Carlton hardly spoke, but we shared a silent connection of mutual loss.
He stepped back and we stood together, admiring my haggard a
ngel in her new home atop the tree. As he turned to walk away, I laid my hand lightly on his arm. “Thanks.”
A being of few words, Carlton gave me a nod and trudged back to the living room, settling into his favorite spot in front of the television.
Our silent moment of understanding came to an abrupt halt with the sound of my phone buzzing where it rested on the long wooden dining table. I scooped it up and clicked it open.
“Hello?”
“Miss Stewart?” a familiar, breathless voice greeted me from the other end of the line.
My spine stiffened with apprehension, making my stomach immediately wad itself into a ball of tension. What now? “Mrs. Bell. What can I do for you?” Phone calls from my boss were never on my list of favorite things. They always heralded some kind of disaster or chaos.
“I know it’s short notice, dear, but I’m afraid I need your help with a situation that’s come up.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Derrick standing in the doorway to the foyer. He raised his eyebrows at me in question, but I gave him a terse head shake.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Mrs. Bell. I’m really busy trying to make a nice holiday for the kids here.”
Mrs. Bell’s exasperated sigh seemed to imply I lacked the understanding to fully comprehend the situation. “That’s precisely why I need your help. There’s a young lady that needs a place to stay. I don’t want to be a bother, but you always seem so capable, dear.”
Derrick motioned urgently for me to come over, but I waved him off. Why did teenagers always want to talk to you when you were already on the phone? “Of course, bring her over. We still have room. The more the merrier.”
“That’s part of the problem, dear. I have my own commitments, so all I can do is drop her off.”
The tinge of uncertainty in Mrs. Bell’s voice shot a troubled vibe through me. Always one to do things by the book, she would never just drop off a resident without going over things with me. “That’s unusual for you. Don’t you need to come in and go over her file with me?”
Derrick started waving his hands frantically to get my attention. I shot him a look of pure annoyance, hoping it would urge him to cease and desist. It didn’t.
“She has her file. Everything you need to know is in there.”
Something was off. There must be information Mrs. Bell wasn’t telling me, and I didn’t like it. “Mrs. Bell—”
“Danielle!” Derrick’s voice bellowed from across the room.
My shoulders stiffened in irritation. “Excuse me for a minute.” I covered the mouthpiece of the phone with my hand. “What is so important that you can’t wait until I’m off the phone?” My voice erupted in a harsh hiss of words.
“There’s a zombie in your office.”
All I could do was stare at him as he sauntered over to the stairs, his long legs carrying him up two at a time until he disappeared from sight. I blinked, not sure I’d heard him correctly. In the distance, Mrs. Bell’s voice yammered on through the phone.
“Miss Stewart? Miss Stewart? I need to go, now. I will be unavailable until after the Christmas holiday, but feel free to call and leave a message. Merry Christmas, dear.”
“Uh, huh.” I absently clicked the phone shut, my heart racing in my chest as I walked through the doorway to my office, just inside the front door.
A girl sat in the chair placed in front of my desk, staring at the floor. A small gray suitcase rested beside her leg. I numbly stepped into the room and took a seat behind the desk, opposite her, noticing a file atop my regular desk clutter.
I opened the cream-colored file folder and scanned a few pages of text. My eyes widened at what I read, but I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. Experience had taught me that I learned more from the kids in my care by what they did…or didn’t…tell me themselves.
I cleared my throat nervously. “So, I see your name is Zoe. I’m Danielle. Welcome to Hellsner House.” I held out my hand in greeting.
Zoe’s head snapped up at the sound of my voice. Her dark eyes seemed almost black, their color so deep. Long, brown hair hung limply on each side of her pale face. My own blond hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail, though I had worn my hair long and loose like Zoe as a kid. It had been like a wall to hide behind. Probably for Zoe, too.
She eyed my outstretched hand warily. “You sure you want to do that?”
I tilted my head to the side as I pondered her reaction. “Any reason I shouldn’t?”
She shrugged. “Most people are so creeped out, they don’t want to touch me.”
“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not most people.”
“I suppose you’re not, running a place like this.” Zoe took my hand. Her skin was a little cool, but no more unpleasant than any normal person with a case of nerves.
After she shook my hand, hers returned to her lap. “That Mrs. Bell chick could hardly wait to be rid of me. She practically shoved me out of the car when she pulled up outside.”
Damn rude woman. “I’m sorry, Zoe. She’s still getting used to the whole concept of paranormal beings as real.”
She shrugged again as her gaze roamed around my office. “Whatever. I’m used to it by now.”
I glanced again at the file on my desk before closing it altogether. “So, would you like to tell me about how your…predicament came about?”
Zoe’s gaze landed on me, the intensity of her dark eyes a little unnerving. “A bunch of drunk kids decided to find a fresh grave and play around with dark magic. Poof. Instant zombie.”
Her bluntness startled me a little, but I managed to brush the comment to the side. I couldn’t imagine how she felt. I could only listen. “And what about your family?”
“Let’s just say that going home was not an option, since my family played a significant part in why I died in the first place.”
The only thing I knew about zombies was what I’d seen in the movies, and Zoe was a far cry from the rotting corpses of the Hollywood screen. All I saw before me was a kid with a lot of painful, emotional baggage. I settled comfortably in my chair and waited patiently for her to continue in her own time.
Her hands fidgeted nervously in her lap. “Everyone says I should feel lucky. If I’d been in the ground much longer, all those kids would have brought back was a drooling, brainless, mess of bones.” She gave me a pointed look, her expression guarded again. “Not that people don’t see me that way anyway, when they find out what I am.”
I sighed. This one was going to take some work. But that was a challenge to start later. Right now, Zoe needed a room, and I needed to work on dinner.
I smiled reassuringly, trying to put Zoe at ease as I stood and walked over to pick up her bag. “Come on, let’s get you settled.”
Silently, she followed me up the stairs and down the hallway. The thump of what Sora called music drifted through the wooden door at the far end. I rapped against the hard wood, hoping she’d hear me through the noise.
The door flew open, Sora’s voice shrill with anger. “What?” She gave me and Zoe the once over before visibly relaxing. “Sorry. I thought it was dog-boy. Who’s this?”
“Sora, this is Zoe. She’s going to stay with us for awhile.”
The girls nodded at each other in greeting, their expressions veiled. “Who’s ‘dog-boy’?” Zoe asked as her eyebrows arched in question.
“The boy who let you in downstairs,” I told her quietly.
Sora’s expression darkened a shade to match her lipstick. “Our resident shapeshifter, Derrick, to be precise.” She pointed at the door across the hall, just as it opened.
Derrick leaned against the doorframe casually, his arms across his chest. “You called?”
“That’s right. Good doggies come when called.” Sora made a face fully intended as an insult.
A lopsided grin challenged her insult, as usual. “You’re being childish in front of our zombie guest.” He bowed slightly in Zoe’s direction.
Zoe averted her gaze shyly
while Sora’s face changed to a mask of panic. “Zombie? She’s a zombie? Lord and Lady, why did you let her in the house? She’ll eat our brains!”
The small beginning of a headache twinged on the periphery of my brain. Here we go. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sora. I can assure you there will be no brain eating.”
“Besides, you’d have to have a brain before a zombie could eat it. You’re decidedly safe.” Derrick piped in with his ever-present sarcasm.
Zoe giggled while Sora sputtered in outrage. A tirade was coming, one I was certain would need to be halted before it ramped them all up for a fight. Just as Sora opened her mouth to retort, I held up my hand, our unspoken signal for silence. “People. It’s Christmas Eve, and I have a lot to do. Please. Work with me, here.”
I turned to Sora and handed her Zoe’s bag. “Help Zoe get settled in. And be nice.”
Sora muttered something unintelligible under her breath as she ushered our new zombie resident into the room and shut the door.
I spun on my heel to face Derrick. “I know Sora gets on your last nerve, but could you find it in your heart to tone it down? At least for tonight?”
Derrick held up his hands in a gesture of surrender as he backed away and shut the door.
Pinching the bridge of my nose to ease the pain of the blossoming headache, I trudged back down the stairs to the large kitchen.
I expected to be greeted by the smell of roasting turkey and the sound of bubbling pots, but was met instead with a noticeable lack of activity from the stove.
“No, no, no, no!” I scrambled over and opened the oven door, my perfect turkey still a white lump of raw meat. Turning the knobs frantically back and forth elicited no response from the cold stove. Damn. Perplexed, I knelt on the floor and opened the panel that hid the pilot light, which I found glaringly unlit. Fabulous.
With a growl of frustration, I rummaged through an overstuffed drawer for a book of matches. I almost dropped the drawer in surprise as the lights flickered, and a glimmer from the corner of my eye drew my gaze away from the mess I was searching through. A fog swirled and coalesced into the transparent shape of a familiar fourteen-year-old boy.
Hell House Books 1-3: The First Three Hell House Novellas in One Box Set Page 1