by C. M. Owens
“People talk,” I start, preparing a different argument. “You can’t erase the whispers, and eventually the whispers get louder and distort the actual events to have been worse…not gentler.”
“Unless all the ones who were left to whisper had blood on their hands and guilt eating them alive,” he counters like he knows for a fact what happened.
With a dark, somewhat sinister smile, he adds, “Guilt always has the guilty downplaying their actions. Fear is a powerful, unstoppable motivator, Ms. Portocale. But when the fear starts to fade, we’re left to face the consequences of our actions in an unforgiving world.”
“Fear isn’t a good excuse to the wronged ones, Mr. Valhe—”
“Just call me Vance,” he interrupts, smiling tightly. “Most people do.”
I pause, forgetting what I was saying, and then pick back up where I think I left off.
“I can see how the world can be considered unforgiving in such instances.”
“True,” he says with a tight smile and a distant look in his eyes. “But judging situations from the outside is a much simpler task when you’re not the one living it in a time when you think you have all the relevant facts. You don’t truly know fear until it consumes your every thought and drenches you with undiluted paranoia every second of every day. The people who did this were common folk. Possibly decent human beings. It’s fear that unleashes evil.”
Anna shoots me a confused look when Vance seems to get lost inside his own head.
“You’ve never relied on whispers to be truth so you could make a well-informed decision about survival,” he continues. “You’ve never spent full months with your heart in your throat, just waiting on the shoe to drop and name you a fool for trusting someone else with your life. Someone you didn’t share blood with.”
“What does that have to do with this town?” I ask him.
He clears his throat when he looks away from the fire.
“All-consuming fear turns into widespread panic and paranoia eventually, Ms. Portocale. When it’s your life or someone else’s, you learn just how selfish you really are. It’s the very core of each individual, whether they admit it or not.”
I’m…still confused.
“Are you trying to tell me the many spirits haunting this town are angry because they were wiped out by paranoid fanatics?” I ask, trying to follow his train of conversation and how it relates to anything we’ve been discussing.
“No. I’m merely having a moment of transference,” he states in a bored tone as he stands. “I’m telling you, that like many towns across the world, this town is a place of great power because of all the innocent blood-sacrifices staining its lands, and to a magically gifted gypsy bloodline, it can be very safe or very dangerous. Until you learn to be very safe, you need a little guidance. I can—”
Before he can finish that confusing sentence, the window across from him explodes, and shattered glass sprays across the room.
I drop to my stomach as a man crashes into the room, rolling up to his feet in time to grab Vance by the throat. I watch in horror as Vance is thrown through a wall, pieces of it crumbling as Vance disappears from sight. Emit Morrigan, fully naked and out of his motherfucking mind, stalks toward the new opening.
“Oh, you really fucked up now, mutt,” I hear Vance growl as I tuck myself under the sofa, trying to figure out what in the actual hell is going on right now.
“I fucked up?” Emit asks in a really unnaturally gruff tone, almost sounding animalistic. “You came onto my land and attacked my wolves, you stupid son of a bitch!”
Oh shit.
What happens when he finds out I was the catalyst to that problem?
I don’t get to think about it very much, because Vance is suddenly leaping through the hole, and his foot connects with Emit’s chest, sending him flipping back and crashing through the broken window.
Half of the wall is practically ripped out with it when Emit’s massive body tears it down on the way out. My eyes widen impossibly more when I peer around to see Emit leap to his feet and shake off the debris. He doesn’t even flinch in the snow, despite the fact he is super naked.
“Wow, that’s a big, beautiful, blessed man,” Anna states as she sways.
She’s already at the window as Vance pushes his sleeves up, winks over at me like this is any other day, and hops out the giant hole.
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill them. They attacked me first,” Vance assures Emit.
I hear a hard crunching sound, and then something crashes against the door that is too damn close.
“I guess we’re really bloody doing this, then?” I hear Vance gripe.
“You came onto my land, blacksmith. Yes, we’re really fucking doing this.”
I have no idea what the hell is going on, but I slide out from under the sofa. No longer is Vance and his home the lesser threat.
No two people get thrown around so hard when they’re human. They can’t see Anna, so they’re not gypsies. And one of them is fighting naked while the other is psychotically winking on his way out to get punched some more.
Something crashes against the door again, and I bolt for the other door that takes me into a massive hallway…that seems never-ending on either side because of all the damn mirrors.
“Just don’t run up the stairs!” Anna calls from behind me as I gamble and pick a direction. “The secondary characters always end up dead first when they go up the stairs, and you’re simply not interesting enough to be the lead character in this story,” she adds, as a really scary, animalistic battle cry sounds from outside.
“I’m bringing salt with me next time,” I bite out as I round another corner, wondering just what sort of monsters I’ve stumbled across, and what the hell my mother left out of my gypsy lessons.
Chapter 10
VANCE
Emit drags himself up from the ground as I spit out some blood and pant a little, feeling oddly rejuvenated. Just how long has been since I had a good fight?
Since putting Arion under?
I bounce on my heels, take a few practice swings, and catch my second wind, as he heaves for air.
“Down for the count, mutt?” I ask him as he pushes to his feet, wiping blood away from his nose.
“Why the fuck were you on my land?”
“Saving a Portocale gypsy’s ass, because the girl is oblivious,” I state as I take another practice swing in the air.
He glares at me.
“She had on the red cloak, and they were—”
“She had on the red cloak because it was her mother’s, you fucking idiot. Her mother’s death is still fresh, and she’s a rather young, sensitive thing. She hasn’t lived long enough to forget how to feel anything yet. So go piss on your own trees, and leave me be.”
He growls as he advances a step. “You’re getting as reckless as Arion, second-guessing me, thinking there’s still a shred of me that doesn’t hate you all as much as you hate me. Trust me when I say you’ve pushed too far, Vance. Too fucking far. My land and my wolves are off limits.”
“Your land is where she was. Your wolves were going to rip her to shreds, simply because she wears a cloak that reminds her of her mother. It’s not like the damned girl was hunting your people’s spirits,” I state dismissively.
He lunges, but I duck out of the way, missing him by inches, as my eyes flick toward the inside of the house, seeing…her not under the sofa anymore.
Well damn.
It’ll take three weeks to search that motherfucking house—
My thoughts rattle the rest of the way around, because my ears ring when my head is jarred to the side. Fucking dick just sucker punched me.
Again.
Just a hint of wolf scent from my right guides my punch, and pain shoots up my arm as he groans on impact.
My vision clears when he charges me again, but he stops just before he hits me, because we both hear the incessant chattering of the stalker ghost right above our heads.
“
That may be the largest penis I’ve ever seen. Do you think they’ll do it? They’ve stopped fighting now and they’re staring lovingly into each other’s eyes,” the infuriating little pest is saying from somewhere over our heads.
Emit and I both snarl at each other as we fight the urge to turn the infuriating lunatic into salt.
“Why the hell was she on my land in that damned cloak?” Emit growls, chest heaving for air as his claws slowly begin to retract.
“She thinks her mother was found dead on your land,” I answer, glancing up to see a streak of red through the third floor window as Violet runs up another set of stairs, her chattering ghost on her heels.
“She’s wearing the cloak because of me.” Damien’s voice has us both jerking our heads to the left, finding him leisurely propped against a tree as he dusts snow off his shoulders.
“Explain,” Emit demands.
“Fuck off, mongrel. I came to explain, so don’t think you can order me around,” Damien drawls. “I was snooping around her attic, and knocked it off. Accidentally, of course.”
“You led her to that cloak?” Emit asks incredulously.
“Why does it matter? The only thing it does is allow her to pass over boundaries she shouldn’t be able to. She’s been doing that, even without the cloak, every time she makes a delivery,” Damien answers.
Unlike Emit, I sit back, letting Damien slowly unravel whatever intent he had that started this downward spiral of a night.
“She knew her mother was a huntress. She didn’t know the true purpose of the cloak. Still doesn’t. She just likes it because it’s red, shiny, and belonged to her mother,” he continues, grinning wickedly at us. “Then your wolves attacked, and she used it like armor. Sort of cute.”
“You watched the whole thing?” I ask curiously, finally breaking my silence.
It’s unnerving I never sensed or smelled him. The wolves often stink up the air too much when they’re around.
“Of course I did,” he says with a shrug. “Then I came to watch the after party as well,” he adds with a grin, gesturing to the two of us. “You drive like a maniac, so it took a little bit to catch up, even with my speed.”
“Oh my damn. It’s the white-haired panty buster! He’s here with them now! And he’s sucking the big man’s dick!” the ghost shouts enthusiastically.
Damien scrubs a hand over his face, and I watch from my peripheral as Violet tries to stealthily shut the top floor window the ghost is screaming out of.
“I find that ghost to be quite a nuisance,” Damien confesses in a quiet tone.
“I find you both to be fucking worse. My wolves and my land are off limits to everyone. Don’t make this hard on me. Not so soon after what Arion did,” Emit growls seriously, pushing his hair out of his face as his eyes narrow. “Things with my people are still tense, even all these decades later.”
“So let her die on your land next time?” I drawl. “You’d rather suffer through our curse that accompanies a Portocale death?”
He glares at me.
“I’ll speak with Ian, inform him about the novelty of this particular Portocale. He was just defending my land,” Emit growls.
“From what? A girl bumbling her way through the snow and talking to her dying ghost friend, while searching for the place where her mother died? Good wolf senses he has,” I decide to point out, smirking over at the furious wolf.
“She struck first,” he adds on a snarl.
“No, the ghost struck first. Ian just doesn’t have the blessed gypsy blood in him and didn’t see her,” Damien inserts.
“You were just going to watch her die?” I ask him as my brow furrows.
“His land. His wolves. I know my place, Vance. Unlike you and Arion,” he says stoically, comparing me to that deranged, homicidal lunatic.
“Arion would have ripped their spines out and mailed them to their alpha,” I say as I take a step toward the man full of menace he hides too well. “What are you trying to stir?”
Damien’s grin merely grows. “You always want to play the hero, Vance. Constantly denying you’re a monster like the rest of us. However, that little Portocale will be certainly terrified of you both now. Who else is left?”
After pointing to himself, he winks and vanishes from sight. I can only assume he’s still lurking, since Emit sniffs the air and wrinkles his nose. The longer Damien is around, the stronger his scent becomes.
I can’t smell anything over wet wolf, so Emit has fucked up my senses at the moment.
“We’re not finished discussing this,” Emit says as he turns and jogs off into the shadows.
I hear the moment he shifts, and assume he did it that far away to keep from traumatizing the Portocale girl, in case she’s watching.
We’ve remained far too quiet for even her ghost to overhear during our impromptu meeting.
I glance up, wondering why that ghost has been quiet for this long, and decide they must have come back down to escape after realizing the house is large, but it’s not quite friendly to those who want to hide.
“Please get rid of the salt around the bathroom,” the ghost says as if she’s been summoned.
I work hard not to react to the fact she’s directly beside me. Alone. While Violet is apparently somewhere else.
My eyes dart around, searching for any sign of that red cloak.
“She done dug-to-China kind of gone,” the ghost adds like she’s trying to talk to me. “It’s just you and me, Handsome. Now go take a shower and make a crack in the salt line so I can join you.”
Continuing to pretend the ghost doesn’t exist, I sigh and search for the tracks I can find before the snow covers them all up. Damn girl is going to freeze to death out here.
Chapter 11
VIOLET
Teeth chattering, I sip my cocoa, pulling the blanket tighter around me, as I scoot in closer to the fireplace.
Anna pops in and takes a seat beside me, sighing wistfully.
“The werewolf is a wild one you can’t trust, but Vance Van Helsing—”
“Anna, not now,” I groan.
“What?” she asks seriously.
“Just…not now,” I say quieter, eyes still on the fire.
She disappears from sight, causing my lips to tense. Her attention is getting divided too easily, which means she’s getting even closer to the dementia stage.
Just as it grows quiet again, my brow furrows, her random words sifting through my mind as I stand abruptly and go to my desk, lifting my book.
Valhinseng…
Van Helsing…
Maybe it’s a coincidence that the really bad anagram and Van Helsing have the same letters? Maybe Anna’s delusional mind is snapping those pieces together and now making my saner mind follow her down her rabbit hole because of this tiring, insane day?
Werewolves…
That would explain the attack in the woods that started this domino-effect of a night. It’d also explain why Emit showed up naked and how they were both so strong and resilient.
It’s also completely, utterly, and unquestionably insane. Or maybe it’s not.
I mean, Mom hunted ghosts as a hobby. Most people don’t believe in ghosts. Who’s to say there’s not an entire world of monsters that’s been kept from me?
After all, I believe monsters exist. I have no choice but to believe that, because I know at least one monster lives.
Things stir in my head that have no business stirring, and I try to put together pieces that don’t fit.
Something bumps and knocks against the window, startling me, and I curse the wind when I accidentally knock off my mother’s potion book.
My gaze lands on the book, and a buried memory from the day I turned thirteen climbs to the surface just as I kneel down.
Blood coats my hands as I rock back and forth, crying so hard I can’t catch my breath. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“Shhh,” she says as she pulls me against her, not bothered by the bl
ood all over me, dripping from my hair, staining my clothes, and invading my mouth with its disgusting taste…
She patiently consoles me as I sob.
“It’s not your fault. It’s theirs,” she says so quietly. “They shouldn’t have been here.”
“I’m a monster,” I whisper, hiccupping around a sob.
“I can assure you there are real monsters out there, January. You’re not one of them,” she goes on, kissing the top of my forehead. “Anything you do is simply to survive. That doesn’t make you a monster.”
As a child, it sounded like she was so certain, but in this moment, I hear the hesitance and tremor of fear in her voice. That was the day my father became an over-the-phone sort of dad. That was the day my mother threw herself into her work.
That was the day I realized there was something terrifying inside me, and if I panicked too much, it came out to defend me.
I just don’t know what it is, and neither did Mom. Now I wonder about this town with possible monsters, and look over at the name of a legendary monster hunter.
Vance fought a pack of possible werewolves—which could just be the crazy in my head talking—and he barely wrinkled his shirt. What happens when he finds out what I am? I can’t fight like that. Mom said, given my dark side, it was a terrible idea to ever be a threat, so I was never taught to fight.
The book is open to a page about this town—a potion that locks out the negative energy from the house. Picking it up, I jerk back, because the door blows open and Vance walks in, cursing as he gapes at me.
“How the fucking hell did you manage to get yourself back here without freezing to death?” he snaps.
“Gypsy warming potion,” I lie, blinking in surprise to find him here so suddenly.
He shakes off the snow, cursing a little more, and starts pulling off his wet clothes.
“Do you have any fucking idea how stupid that was?” he demands. “I’ve been searching everywhere because I thought there was no way you could make it this far on foot, you foolish little girl.”