House of Darkness

by K. R. Alexander

  How could I have forgotten? Even when Wade had insisted earlier that we’d met before, I hadn’t remembered—only now gaining details. The conversation about gifts on dates, what worked, what didn’t. Wade had said he liked to receive moments, not things—a ticket to a show, or venue like a museum, paintball, or car show for example. I’d said yes, then gone. Gone from him to a buzz of my phone at the point in the evening when we were supposed to be allowed to mingle—the event over. Gone and he’d been looking for me. I should have been looking for him, only, a few words through the phone, a dash, a drive, everything had changed.

  Now it turned out he was a mage as well.

  Business at hand—that was what mattered. I’d had to focus since the memorial services just days ago. Now here we were, almost literally on the threshold, and suddenly I was thinking about a perfect peach and, impossibly, feeling a little tickled about a glowing carnation? Even thinking of my own appearance, wishing I’d offered more attention to my hair, worn a different top… Where was this coming from?

  With new focus after the memorials had come the numbness. I needed that numb to get the job done. No swooning over a peach or flower, of all things.

  I was sticky and remembering that last yellow flower ten days ago, still trying to eat, when Wade’s expression froze. His gaze flickered past while Gideon and Adam walked up behind me.

  Job at hand, numb distance, it’s just a peach: focus.

  “Wade—” I gulped a sweet, blissful bite, holding onto the pit now, juice down my arm and chin. “This is Gideon and Adam.” Indicating each with my free hand as Gideon stepped up beside me. Adam trailed, eating with a peach in each hand.

  I swallowed again and forced myself to toss the pit back toward the grove rather than nibbling it like an ear of sweet corn. That also sounded good. Any meal, really. It was still corn season. Spicy buffalo wings sounded even better. When was the last time I’d had an apatite? Oh, right…

  “Guys, this is Wade,” I continued. “He’ll handle banishing with me. Wade, they’re vampire-hunters.”

  Wade just stared at Gideon, lips parted. “Right…”

  I took the offered flower. The glow had vanished.

  “Peach?” Gideon held out his left hand with another huge, succulent treat.

  I caught my breath. “That was the best peach I’ve ever had. Thanks.” Only when I already had it plucked from his fingers did I realize Gideon had been reaching past me, offering the fruit to Wade. Apologize, offer it to him, or pretend I hadn’t noticed?

  Flower stem in left hand and peach in right, I headed briskly for my car, already eating.

  This one was just as good. So stupid good. Get back here in the morning: ladder, bucket, pick peaches. No worries about private land. We were trespassing as it was. Might as well be hanged for a peach as a ghost.

  Behind me, Gideon shook Wade’s hand.

  Adam was questioning him before Wade had a chance to speak. “What do you do with phantasms? How do you get a bite on something without a body?”

  “Oh…”

  “How do they smell?” Gideon asked. “Or do you feel them? What senses alert you?”

  “Whiskers,” Adam said through a mouthful of peach. “Moon’s senses, whiskers. They’ll tell you when the varmints are lurking.”

  “Which brings up an interesting point,” Gideon said, thoughtful while Adam sounded hacked off.

  I slurped away at my second peach while rummaging for flashlights and my mom’s daypack with cleansing gear—mirror, herb bundles, warded rune stones—and my phone.

  Turning, I saw Adam now also had empty hands and shook Wade’s with one surely very sticky. It wasn’t the juice troubling Wade as he flinched and set his jaw. When Adam finally let go, Wade glanced down as if to check how badly his knuckles had been rearranged.

  “They were in Pigeon Forge,” Adam was saying. “We torched the whole blood bank, didn’t we, Gid? Have to burn those fuckers or they’ll come crawling back for more. Ever tangled with one? Rip off their stinking corpse heads, stake their cold hearts, throw them in a pit, gas can, match, and you’ve got the blood-suckers where you want them. Leave that to us.” Adam looked around at me while Wade was simply staring at him, and Gideon smiled. “Do you have a shovel? We’ll want a shovel when we get the corpses out.”

  “No idea.” I splashed water on my sticky hands from a bottle. Better open the trunk and get paper towels.

  “You don’t know?” Adam twisted his head like a puppy.

  “There’ll be one in the barn.” Gideon said. “Don’t you reckon one of us should change?”

  While Wade asked me, “You’re expecting vampires here?”

  “No.” I popped the trunk.

  “Sure, I’ll change,” Adam said. “You take care of the stakes and I’ll take care of the ripping.”

  Gideon had already collected the two rubber-banded bundles of stakes from the ground.

  I paused by the trunk, daypack slung over a shoulder, keys in my clean left hand, as Adam pulled his shirt over his head.

  “No, there won’t be any vampires?” Wade asked. “Or, no, you’re not expecting any?”

  Even in gathering dark Adam was something to stare at. Lights from my trunk and inside the Volvo gleamed off his sparsely haired chest and sculpted abs, casting shadows where shadows were due, while the sky behind still glowed just enough to give him a sharp outline. I’d never seen abs like those in person. The sort that come out of doctored photos and clichéd comments—not real life. I’d never thought of substance coming quite so lavishly. Which made me wonder about other lavishness while Adam yanked off motorcycle boots and socks, hopping on one foot.

  “Ripley?” Wade seemed unduly interested in vampires all of a sudden.

  I tried to remember what he’d asked. “Don’t worry about it. That’s why we have a team.” Still watching Adam. “What are you doing?”

  At the same time he said, “Can I use your trunk?” He strode over in only his motorcycle pants, not waiting for an answer, nor minding the gravel and weeds he walked on.

  “Are you meaning to … what?” I asked. “Change shape?”

  “We want to be our best.” He dumped his boots and the rest on top of the case of cat food, then opened his fly.

  “You can do that?” I stepped back along the side of the car, feeling like I needed to turn away. But I wasn’t spying on him. He was the one so relaxed about putting himself on display. “You can just turn into a wolf whenever you want?”

  Adam laughed. “No one ‘turns into a wolf.’ We are wolves.” Casting a wry grin over his shoulder at Gideon, whose smile had become indulgent.

  “It’s a common mistake,” Gideon said, as if I needed soothing. “But yes, we can change when we wish, as long as we don’t over-do. It’s a painful thing to change, and hard on a body.”

  “It’s nothing.” Adam waved his hand jauntily. “He’s a pup. What’d I tell you about him overreacting to everything?” Yanking down pants with underwear at the same time.

  Holy crap. This wasn’t feeling numb. This was that peach all over again. Only a living body, the most beautiful body I’d ever seen, stark naked, stuffing his pants into the trunk of my car like we did this every night. Did all werewolves look like this? If so, why hadn’t I run away with one already? Why had no one in the community ever mentioned it?

  And what the hell was going on? A life-changing night all over again. Another moment when I knew nothing would ever be the same.

  This morning I’d gotten up in my parents’ house, still not believing it was mine, that they were gone, that Mom wasn’t brewing coffee and Dad wasn’t singing in the shower. I’d confirmed the time and place to meet Wade by text, fed the cats, steeped black tea, nibbled peanut butter toast that tasted like sawdust, and pushed forward with this focus for what had to be done. Everything else numb.

  And now…?

  Adam leaned in to sniff at the box of dog biscuits before catching himself and stepping back. All that motion, th
e bend and sway, drawing the eye, momentarily forgetting embarrassment with these new sensations screaming anything but numb, hammering in my ears.

  He took a knee, bowing his head, then chuckled. He glanced up to meet my eyes—still staring at him. “Ripley? Believe this, or not?” He squinted, ready to change.

  Witnessing such a thing was crossing another line that I wasn’t ready for. I looked at their motorcycles instead of Adam, muttering, “Never heard that one before.”

  Even the sounds were bad: skin stretching and bones twisting as his body reshaped itself. Wade had walked away, back turned, and he flinched at the noises, rubbing his smashed right hand. I wouldn’t accuse anyone of overreacting for thinking shapeshifting was painful.

  Even when it stopped, I busied myself dropping the flower on the seat, shutting the door, pulling the daypack onto both shoulders, all while avoiding using my dripping right hand. With the car closed up, I asked Wade if he had a flashlight—no power currently supplied to the property—then turned back to the trunk.

  Gideon headed for his motorcycle at my words, fetching a light. Adam was also gone. There, by the back bumper, stood a massive wolf.

  5

  The wolf stretched as if having just woken, bowing his chest until his elbows touched the gravel and extending his huge forepaws as far as they could reach—quite far indeed. His coat was pale, with wolf markings in gray and fawn around head, back, and sides. He yawned, then straightened with a step toward me and a stretch to his hind legs as well.

  I didn’t move while he strode over. You weren’t supposed to back down when a big predator did so. My pulse sped. It wasn’t fear. It was definitely not numb.

  That wolf was huge, his ears level with my waist while his head was not even lifted.

  So much at once: the peach, flower, remembering feelings from speed-dating, new feelings stirred by Adam’s improbable body, then rush at sight of this wild animal.

  Had the spirits conspired to send me these three to help on my mission, or to wake me from the emotional brick wall I’d smacked after those first waves of shock and grief, misery and anger? Mom would think sending three gorgeous guys at one time was hilarious, while the shifter/animal thing was the cherry on top. Since I’d continually refused to get involved with the family business, despite my curse, how often had she encouraged me to become a vet or behaviorist, hands-on, while I’d leaned into biology? How many times had she said that, after they retired from house-cleaning careers, they would start an animal sanctuary? Dad would sigh, waving his hand at the cats and asking wasn’t that already what they had? Even the peaches made me think of them. Peach cobbler was a family favorite.

  I shivered as I reached to touch the wolf’s head. Again, it wasn’t from fear.

  He leaned into my hip. With a lazy wag of his tail, he sniffed my hand, raising his head to my arm, then licked the sweet juice on my fingers. He licked over my palm, down my wrist, along to my arm, lifting his head to reach my sticky elbow.

  His tongue was huge, slick, warm, nowhere near as raspy as the tiny cat tongues I was used to but coating my hand and arm in slimy saliva in half a minute.

  He sniffed down my body, slowly along shirt, then my jeans from crotch to shoes. He licked my dusty right shoe where juice had dripped, still wagging his tail, then sniffed up until he nudged my hand.

  Without thinking, I rubbed his head and scratched behind his ear where dogs like. The wolf pressed into this, almost making me stagger. He turned his head and pushed for more. I dug my fingers in, scratching down his neck, into the wooly undercoat and sharp guard hairs.

  He shouldn’t have been much different than an enormous Alaskan Malamute. Only he was. His shape was different, with very long limbs and long feet. His chest was narrower than a dog’s, while his muzzle was longer. And those eyes? He had yellow eyes exactly how the moon sometimes looks when it is first rising, big and bright. No dog had eyes like that.

  When his gaze met mine my skin tingled and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. More than the cool interest of a predator, there was humor in his eyes, a smile somehow, reminding me who I faced. His breath smelled like peach and licorice.

  I smiled back, the sensation tugging at muscles of my face like a gymnast trying a new position. Was the speed-date with Wade the last time I’d smiled?

  I rubbed his head with both hands, butt of the flashlight jammed in my back pocket. No, this wasn’t scary. It was awesome.

  Gideon cleared his throat. “Don’t want to come between anyone curling up together, but you two ready?”

  Before I could tear my gaze from Adam’s intense yet amused eyes, I said, “I do play backgammon.”

  He lashed his tail, mouth opening to pant. Or smile?

  I hurried to shut the trunk, forgetting about grabbing a paper towel to wipe off drool that now cooled on my arm in the hot night.

  “Okay, so…” I looked around as we converged at the steps leading up to the porch and dark front door of the old house. “Flashlights? Let’s go.”

  Wade was at the steps, light on. Adam padded after. Gideon reached the broken handrail with me and took my arm. That light touch again, hot fingers resting in the curve of my elbow. Wade’s gaze followed the touch as Gideon stopped me. I also looked down.

  “Care to give us the plan?” Gideon asked me. “You’re silver here.”

  “Silver?” Shifter slang?

  “You’re in charge,” Gideon prompted, smiling. He stood very close. He smelled of peaches and tree sap, wood smoke and evening sun, misty mornings and wild places where only paws tread. Around the edges a hint of something that the uninitiated might have put down to Gideon’s keeping a few dogs at home. Funny, how he was the one on two feet, the one I’d have said was the more civilized of the two—denying interest in roadkill, gentle touches, offering gifts not only to me but to Wade, and now this polite inquiry—while he was the one who smelled like a wolf.

  Gideon did not withdraw his hand. Nor did I step away.

  “Plan?” I frowned, meeting his close gaze through antiglare lenses as he was a step down from me. I liked how he made me feel less ridiculously tall. People assume a really tall girl is going to be athletic—presumably to the detriment of mental faculties. They don’t know what to assume about a tall girl with Latin tattoos, crimson hair, and librarian glasses.

  “You do have a plan?” Wade asked.

  “Sure.” I tore my gaze from Gideon’s half-lit face to gesture at them with my flashlight. “You’re all here. That was the plan. Wade and I will handle incorporeals. Gideon and Adam will handle physical undead.”

  Gideon nodded.

  Ready to roll, Adam swept past, claws clicking as he bounded up the steps and stopped to sniff the locked door. That wolf was so freaking cool. Future tattoo…?

  “Hang on,” Wade said. “Don’t you have a standard procedure? A way you approach dealing with hauntings?” His smile was nervous.

  “Who knows what’s in this house? It’s on their—on our list of places needing to be cleared in Midway City.” I shrugged. “Get in, find what’s here, open a rift, send the spirits on. You’ve done that, right? Experience with undead and hauntings?”

  “Well, I mean… Beyond basics, there’s nothing you want to … add?”

  “You’ll know what to do. This is a trial for all of you. Just show me what you’ve got. In, cleanse, out. That’s it.”

  “Right…” Wade shifted.

  He’d said on the phone he had experience, hadn’t he? And he had the reflexes. The other two hunted vampires. What more did we need?

  Mom and Dad maybe? The ghost-hunters? The house-cleaners? As opposed to me?

  A trial for all of us; a house that had been on their list while they tried to get permission from the out-of-state owner. Screw permission. Screw a plan. I had a job to do, starting tonight.

  I called energy from the house’s bones to flip the deadbolt with magic. The door rattled and opened on sagging, screeching hinges as I held out my palm. A hot
breeze stirred: smell of basements and musty antique stores. The old farmhouse was stifling inside, a wash of even hotter air coming with the smells as the door creaked open.

  We stood for a moment, heat, odors, and pitch-dark rushing against us, then I switched on my flashlight and stepped in with Adam. Only to discover there was no floor.

  6

  “Ripley!” A yelp. Crash, rush of air, a scream.

  The flashlight was knocked from my hand as I bashed into boards, concrete, earth, and splintered wood. The light went out. I grabbed wolf fur which was also ripped away.

  In darkness we plunged what felt like many floors, across debris while scores of people seemed to be yelling or snarling in my ears. Crash to ground that felt as forgiving as limestone. I landed half on top of Adam, pounding him but saving me from at least a broken arm.

  Cobwebs and dust covered my face. A struggle to reclaim air led to a coughing fit that I couldn’t afford, suffocating. I’d only just hit when someone who’d been falling with us crashed into me.

  With breath driven from all of us, the wolf also coughing, it was a moment before I was scrambling to my knees, swearing through breathlessness and ringing pain in my head and elbows and everywhere else.

  “Are you okay?” Wade choked in my ear.

  I hate it when people say that. I could have fallen into a pit of vipers, just been dragged from the bottom of a lake, or been run over by a bus, and some numbskull would say, “Are you okay?”

  I coughed and wheezed, flapping at my face to clear cobwebs and spiders and flying dust in a confusion of pitch darkness. I tasted blood, felt the wet on my upper lip, and realized my nose was bleeding. Pain? Not bad. It wasn’t broken. Probably just rammed it into a wolf shoulder or skull. Of much more concern, my glasses were gone.

  Dammit, contacts. What had Mom always done before heading for a house-cleaning? Long pants, no skirts, sensible shoes, bag of gear, contact lenses. Don’t keep your glasses on just to look older and smarter instead of like a twenty-year-old pretending to be the boss of some ghost-hunting expedition with a bunch of strangers.