Enthralled: Paranormal Diversions

by Melissa Marr; Kelley Armstrong

  “This is my house,” she screeched. “Rebecca Walker. My name is on the deed. I still own it.”

  I ignored her and raced over to where Tori lay sprawled on the floor.

  “Serves her right!” Rebecca shrieked. “Kids, breaking into my house, stealing my things. Almost as bad as those developers. The floorboards didn’t rot so fast on their own, you know. Those people wanted to cause an accident. Force my poor Timmy to sell.”

  I dropped beside Tori and touched the side of her neck. I thought I could feel a pulse, but my fingers were trembling so much I wasn’t sure. I glanced at Derek. He was already kneeling on her other side and checking for a heartbeat.

  “Oh, she’s fine,” Rebecca said. “Well, as long as she didn’t snap her neck. But if she did, it would serve her right, breaking into other people’s property. Probably meeting some boy here. That’s what they all do. Boys and girls. In my house. Upstairs, in my—”

  “Would you shut up?” I said, so loud I startled Derek. I turned to him. “Is she—?”

  “I said she’s alive,” the old woman said. “I’d know, wouldn’t I? I’d have seen her ghost, and the only one I’ve seen is that woman who followed you here.”

  I turned sharply. “Woman?”

  “Oh, now you want to listen to me, do you? Is this how you treat ghosts, girl? Ignore them until it suits your fancy? Well, let me tell you, I don’t—”

  She kept ranting. I turned back to Derek, who was on his phone, calling his dad. I shook Tori’s shoulder. Her eyelids fluttered and she groaned.

  “She’s going to be okay,” Derek said. “Your aunt’s coming.” Aunt Lauren was a doctor. “Did you say something about a woman?”

  “She says one followed me here. Another ghost.”

  I turned back to Rebecca Walker. A month ago, I’d have been tripping over myself to apologize for ignoring her. I credit Derek for that too—teaching me I don’t need to be so polite all the time. I still believe in being nice, but with ghosts, if they’re nasty to me, I have to give them attitude right back, or they’ll take advantage.

  “Do you want us to call the police too?” I asked. “Report this accident? Or would you rather we kept it quiet so your son doesn’t get in trouble?”

  She stopped ranting.

  “We’ll make you a deal,” I said. “We won’t tell anyone what happened here. In fact, we’ll alert your son to what the developers did. In return, you’ll tell me everything you know about this woman.”

  Now she started squawking that she didn’t know much, that it was just some lady who must have been following me because of my necromancer’s glow. She’d come in here, seen Tori fall, and taken off.

  “I can’t tell you more than I saw, girl, so you’d better not hold out on me.”

  There was genuine panic in her voice. That’s another thing Derek made me realize—I often feel that I’m at the mercy of ghosts, but it’s the other way around. They’re stuck, and I’m their only chance for contact with the living world.

  “We had a deal,” I said. “I’ll do my part, if you tell me what this ghost looked like.”

  Rebecca jabbed a finger in Tori’s direction. “Like her. Same height. Same hair. Skinny. Blue eyes, though. And older. Maybe forty. Dressed all fancy, too, like she thought she was something special.”

  “Diane Enright,” I whispered. “She’s describing Tori’s mom.”

  He swore under his breath. “She used a glamour spell.”

  “A what?”

  “Glamour spell. It makes a witch look like someone else. It only works if you’re expecting to see the other person.”

  “Like when that other person disappears from sight, then returns. Or seems to.”

  I marched from the room. Derek came after me.

  “Stay with Tori,” I said. “Please. I don’t want her to wake up and hear this.”

  He hesitated, but agreed, and watched me head up the stairs. I went out the back door. As I gazed around the empty yard, I swallowed. I might have marched up those stairs, but my knees were trembling. This was Diane Enright. Tori’s mother. The woman I’d raised to kill Dr. Davidoff. To murder Dr. Davidoff.

  Oh God. I couldn’t do this. Couldn’t face her. Couldn’t—

  I had to.

  “Mrs.—” I took a deep breath to steady my voice, then channeled Derek, putting a snap into my voice as I shouted, “Diane! I know you’re out there.”

  She popped up in front of me, so fast I blanched. I crossed my arms, willed my feet to stay still, and reminded myself she was just a ghost.

  “Little Chloe Saunders, looking so fierce,” she said. “I suppose that’s what happens after you kill someone?”

  I tried not to flinch, but I must have, because she laughed again. “Or not so fierce after all.”

  “What do you want?”

  She looked down at me, and she was still smiling, but it gave me goose bumps. “I think you know.”

  I just stood there, staring up at her.

  “You killed Dr. Davidoff, Chloe. You used me to do it. I’m sure you’re telling yourself you didn’t, that I fired the gun and you had nothing to do with that. A terrible misunderstanding.”

  No, I’d told her to do it. I knew that. I accepted responsibility.

  But did I completely believe it? Or was there part of me that wanted to pretend it was a misunderstanding? It wasn’t. Seeing Diane Enright again, I knew that. I remembered everything she’d done to us. Everything Davidoff did to us. In that moment, seeing her corpse, seeing Davidoff holding the gun to Aunt Lauren’s head, and I was back in the laboratory and I felt what I had then. Clarity. Resolution.

  “It wasn’t a misunderstanding,” I said. “I told you to shoot him. You were a zombie. You had to obey me.”

  The look she gave me then was even more chilling, because there was no anger in it. She was studying me, appraisingly, as if murdering someone was a sign of character.

  “You blame me for everything that happened, don’t you?” I said. “I freed the demi-demon, which brought down the building, which killed you. Then I forced you to kill Dr. Davidoff. You want revenge. You were following me on the other side of the veil, so I couldn’t see you. When Tori fell, you lured me away. You left your daughter to die. Then you tried to kill me.”

  “Please, Chloe, I know you love movies, but drama doesn’t suit you. Victoria wasn’t in mortal danger, and neither were you. It was simply”—she pursed her lips—“a lesson. A small show of what I can do, if I wish.”

  “Again, what do you want?”

  “Nothing. Yet.” She stepped forward, and I resisted the urge to back up. “I merely wish you to remain open to the possibility that we can help each other. I find you interesting, Chloe. You know that.”

  “No, you find me useful, especially now, when your options are so limited that you’re willing to work with the person you blame for your death.” I looked up at her. “You told me before that we could help each other. That I was stronger than your daughter.”

  “You are.”

  “No, I’m not. It was never about who was smarter or stronger. It was about who you could control. You couldn’t control Tori. You thought you could control me. You still think you can. That’s what this was about. To show me what you can do—leave Tori alone and hurt, lead me into another hole, where I can lie, alone and hurt too, until I’m rescued. Then I’ll do whatever you say.” I met her gaze. “Only I won’t.”

  I imagined giving her a mental shove. She staggered back.

  “Don’t you dare, Chloe Saunders. If you banish me—”

  “You’ll come back. I’m sure you will. But you won’t trick me again, and by then, I’ll have learned a way to get rid of you for good.” I stepped forward, right under her nose. “I’m not sorry you’re dead. I’m not sorry Dr. Davidoff is dead. I just feel sorry for myself because I had to kill him. But if I didn’t, someone else would have had to, and that would only have put the guilt on them. So I’m going to stop thinking of all the other
ways we could have stopped you, because there weren’t any. And when I find a way to banish you for good, I won’t worry about where you might go. I’m just going to stop you.”

  I closed my eyes and gave her a huge mental slam. She let out a howl of rage, cut short as she was knocked into another dimension. When I opened my eyes, she was gone.

  I let out a shuddering sigh. Then arms went around me, solid and warm, and I leaned back against Derek.

  “She’s gone,” I whispered. “For a little while.”

  “I know.” He kissed the top of my head.

  I let myself enjoy the embrace for a moment, then remembered and pulled away. “Tori.”

  “Your aunt and my dad are here. They came in the front. Tori might have a broken ankle and a concussion, but she’s okay.” He reached down, hand going under my chin. “I know how hard that was for you, confronting Tori’s mom.”

  He bent, lips coming to mine and—

  “Derek? Chloe?” It was Kit, opening the back door.

  Derek let out a low growl.

  “Never fails.” I turned to Kit. “How is she?”

  “We’re going to take her back to the house now. She’s unconscious again.”

  “Then we’ll walk back,” Derek said. “Give you room in the van to lay her down.”

  His dad agreed and went back inside. As we walked toward the steps, I looked down at Derek’s hand, holding mine.

  “No one’s around,” he said. “And we can take the back way.”

  “Good,” I said, and entwined my fingers with his.

  Let’s Get this Undead Show on the Road

  by Sarah Rees Brennan

  vampire craze has taken the world by storm. It seems as if everyone is developing a taste for blood. “Riding this crimson wave is the English boy band 4 the One, who rocketed to the top of the charts a couple of months ago and stuck.

  “And as we all know, two months at the top is eternal life in showbiz. We at Sizzling Hot News were lucky enough to score an exclusive interview with the four hot young things and their manager, Faye Fanshawe.”

  The flickering screen was the only light in the tour bus, but unfortunately Christian was a vampire and could see in the dark. He was trying to concentrate on the television, because he was afraid to look at anyone in the room.

  The camera panned down along Faye’s body; her mulberry-colored suit; her chestnut-colored coif, highlights gleaming with copper and evil; and her literally killer shoes, with wooden heels that she was always threatening to use to stake Christian if he avoided the wind machine at concerts.

  Faye’s face was suddenly in close-up beside the reporter’s. They smiled at each other with all the warmth and sincerity of two skulls placed side by side.

  “Why do you think that 4 the One has struck such a chord with their audience?” Christie (no last name) of Sizzling Hot News inquired, and as Faye opened her mouth, Christie went smoothly on, “With so many competitors, do you worry that 4 the One will get lost in a forest of fangs? Take Night Is Falling for You, a band of Canadian vampires who combine menace with folksy charm—”

  Faye’s lip curled. “I’d rather not. I like my boys.” She sent a smile at the camera that combined menace with ferocious intent. “I don’t believe, Chrissy—may I call you Chrissy?”

  “Christie.”

  “Thanks,” Faye cooed. “I don’t believe the glut of vampires on the market will affect us at all. For one thing, I think part of what draws people to the group is that we have three humans and only one vampire. Chris is a bit of a special case. He isn’t part of a group of vampires, and I think people respond to his essential loneliness—”

  The bus behind them rocked gently but visibly. Christie started. Faye remained absolutely calm.

  Christian’s eyes flicked to Faye’s face offscreen. She had a fixed, murderous look about her, and even though it was dark and she couldn’t possibly have known he was looking at her, he saw her lip curl back from her teeth.

  He cringed and returned his gaze to the TV screen.

  “He’s the only vampire in a sea of humans,” Faye on the television continued serenely. “He yearns to be human, but he can never truly be one of us. He’s the alluring other who makes us feel good about ourselves. Emo bangs to fangs, he’s the whole package.”

  Behind her, the door of the bus slammed open, and out staggered Christian. He was moving with all the vampiric grace of a cat. A cat with its head stuck in a tin.

  “And here’s that package now,” Faye said, sending him a glittering smile. “Practically almost on time. And his lovely bandmates.”

  Bradley, lead singer of 4 the One, came out stretching like a stripper, wearing only skintight silver trousers and a look of innocent surprise.

  “Are the reporters here already?” he asked, stretching some more. “I’m so sorry,” he added, artfully rumpling his already artfully rumpled blond hair. “What must you think of me?”

  “I can’t tell you what I think of you,” Christian muttered. “There are ladies present.”

  Offscreen, Christian winced. He hadn’t realized he’d said that loud enough for the cameras to catch.

  Even with his vampire eyesight, Christian could only make out the dark shape on the screen, slinking behind Bradley, that was Josh. Someone as shy as Josh should probably not be in an internationally famous boy band.

  Like Christian was one to talk about being temperamentally suited to the job.

  The fourth member of the band, Pez the drummer, came outside and beamed beatifically upon all of them. He looked as if he was not entirely certain who any of them were.

  Christie clapped her hands together in a way Christian thought was meant to display enthusiasm. It actually reminded him of a teacher calling her class to order. “Boys! Are you excited to be on your first tour?”

  “Oh, we’re on tour,” Pez said, regarding the tour bus with an enlightened air. “I was wondering why our new house had wheels.”

  Bradley, Christian, Josh, and Faye all shared a moment of embarrassed silence.

  “I’m really excited to be on tour!” Bradley announced finally, saving the day and flashing his trademark boyish grin.

  Christian had to briefly stop watching the screen in order to roll his eyes.

  “As you can see,” Bradley said, dimming the smile expertly from dazzling to bashful, “I’ve been working out.”

  Christie frowned. “Do you always work out covered in glitter?”

  “Actually,” Christian said, “it pains me to admit this. But he really does.”

  Christie’s nose almost twitched as it turned toward him, like a hound on a scent.

  “Chris,” she said.

  “Christian,” said Christian.

  “Chris, darling,” Christie said firmly. “How do you feel about this?”

  Christian blinked. “Well, he does get a lot of glitter in the carpets, but in the end I guess it’s his business.”

  On the screen, Faye’s face was perfectly serene. In the darkness of the tour bus as they watched the interview, Faye’s snort rang out like a gunshot. Christian flinched.

  “I meant about the tour,” the interviewer said patiently.

  “Oh, well,” said Christian. “I am obviously excited to meet the fans and thrilled about this opportunity—”

  “Where do they put your coffin?” Christie inquired brightly. “Do they store it in the luggage hold?”

  Bradley’s shining blond head turned. “In the luggage hold?” he demanded. “Like an animal? No way.”

  He leaned over and hooked an arm around Christian’s neck. Christian leaned away.

  “Chris is one of the band,” Bradley announced. “His coffin rides in the tour bus with us. Anyway, you know, he’s cooped up in the coffin all day long, he needs to be amused. I play knock-knock jokes on the coffin lid for him. We have a blast together.”

  Now that Bradley had moved to snag Christian, Josh’s face was clear, thin and pale behind his wire glasses. It expressed exactly
how thrilled he wasn’t about having a coffin in the tour bus with him.

  Just as clear was Christian’s murmur of “Put me in the luggage hold. I beg you.”

  “One of the stops is in Birmingham, near the area where you grew up,” Christie continued. “The word is that you haven’t been back there for almost two years, since your mother threw you out of your home.”

  Christian’s mouth tightened. “My mother didn’t throw me out.”

  Christian’s mother had not thrown him out. But they had all been uneasy around him after the change, and his fifteen-year-old brother Rory had stopped hero-worshipping him and become afraid of him instead. He’d had nightmares every night Christian stayed in the house, and Mum had said, well, you’re eighteen, after all . . .

  Eighteen forever. Rory was the one with the future.

  Christian had left. They hadn’t thrown him out, it hadn’t been like that, but he’d had to leave, and he’d liked playing guitar in his garage band, and there had been auditions for a boy band.

  He had never thought it would spiral out of control like this, but as soon as he had signed the contracts, Faye had been in control. He’d been a very new vampire, not sure who or what he was.

  Faye had been sure, and had shaped them all according to her vision. Now, with success, her vision had expanded, become as huge and glittering as one of the onscreen projections of their concerts. It was hard to know what lay behind that vision.

  But that wasn’t this interviewer’s business, and things were better now with his family. Rory owned the band’s CD, and the new single. They were proud of him, Mum said when she called him. She’d started calling him more and more often after their first single had hit the charts. Everything was fixed between them, and he’d see them soon.

  “Really?” asked Christie, sweet as candied arsenic. “I understood that after you, ahem, transitioned into an alternative state—is that the term you prefer?”

  “I prefer ‘became a vampire.’”

  “Well, since you . . . did that, I understood that your brother was afraid to have you in the house, and your mother threw you out?”