Drop Dead Demons (39 page)

I stepped in slowly, tentative, but an Aurora booby-trap didn’t skewer me as I crossed the threshold. Things didn’t start out weird. Just surprising.

Polished wood planks covered the walls and floor, with throw rugs placed here and there. The ceiling pitched up at a steep angle and held a large skylight. Artwork — looked like English landscapes of all things — hung around the room except where built-in bookcases covered one wall, the shelves holding books lined in neat rows and a few framed photographs. Across from a bay window with a window seat sat an elegant mahogany sleigh bed with end tables on either side holding matching Tiffany lamps of rich colored stained glass. There was an old trunk at the foot of the bed, and not far from the open door of a closet stood a large armoire. 

Built into the far corner was a quaint, river-rock fireplace with a leather rocking chair in front that had a Tiffany floor lamp curving over the back. It made a great reading nook, evidenced by the book and coffee mug sitting on the hearth.  

The room was clean, not a dirty sock in sight — so much the opposite of Lucian’s disaster of a room — as well as warm, cozy, and inviting — so unlike Matthias’s disaster of a personality.

The bed was made to military specks, crisp and smooth. I ran my hand over the quilt which smelled freshly laundered and was clearly handmade by someone with great skill. The soft fabric was worn in several places where a careful hand had stitched and patched repairs, some old, some new, but all done with fastidious precision. 

The quilt design was a stunning, elaborate mural depicting three distinct Australian landscapes. Dry Outback, tropical rainforest, and sparkling coastline artfully blended from one to the other, with intricate details of flora and fauna so cleverly integrated, it was a delight to discover something new the closer you looked. The edge was bordered with framed blocks, each depicting a native animal. The usual koala, kangaroo, crocodile, platypus, along with creepy spiders, snakes, and lizards, as well as ocean animals, colorful birds, and several creatures I couldn’t identify.

I moved to the end of the bed and opened the trunk. A pleasing floral scent wafted up. More quilts in a kaleidoscope of colors were folded neatly. On top of them was a well-stocked, velvet-lined wooden sewing box along with several books with blank covers. 

I opened one of the volumes and found pages filled with handwriting. Each entry started with “Dear Mum,” and ending with “I miss you. Love, Matty.”  

“Oh, jeez.” I snapped the book closed.

Wow. Diaries. Matthias’s deepest thoughts and emotions.

I could finally have some serious leverage—uh, I mean, finally understand his innate complexities. So tempting.

I opened up the volume I held, then closed it and checked a few more.

No, I wasn’t reading them. As much as I hated him, that would be way too wrong. I have some scruples—yeah, I know, surprised even me—but I wanted to confirm a theory, and I did.

Matthias had started these diaries
after
his mom died. It was an accounting of his daily experiences since he lost her, as if he was away at boarding school and wanted to keep her updated on his life. 

I replaced the diaries with care, closed the trunk lid, and flopped myself into the leather rocker, ruminating on the unfathomable depths of The Obnoxious One.

I rocked back and forth in the comfy seat. On each of the curved wooden armrests, initials had been scratched with a childish hand. My fingers traced over M.P. on the left and, with a sense of deep sadness, over B.P. on the right.

Ugh. This was getting to be too much.

Looking for a distraction, I lifted the mug off the hearth and sniffed. Tea, not coffee. The book looked old. I picked it up, read the title, and laughed.

“Yeah, right,” I said to no one.

I opened the book. And stopped rocking. My jaw dropped, but I clamped it shut, afraid to drool on this precious gem in my hands as I delicately turned pages to confirm that…

Holy mother of romance literature.

It was Jane Austen.
Pride and Prejudice
. Published 1813. A
first
edition.

“No way.” I slapped it shut. Then cringed. “Sorry.” I pet the cover with reverence before setting it back on the hearth.

My wide eyes roamed the space and settled on the bookcases. I shot up and across the room so fast the rocker swung forward hard, caught some air, and
thumped
back. With mounting disbelief and confusion, my gaze scrambled over the titles on the shelves. I pushed aside some framed photos of a young Matthias and his family and pulled out a few books to confirm that…

Son of a gun.

I slumped my butt on a lower shelf and leaned my head back, trying to make sense of this revelation. The artwork on the wall next to the window caught my eye. I moved in for a closer look. Extravagant English gardens surrounded a grand manor house, but it wasn’t a photo or painting, it was a framed, glass-covered, expertly crafted needlepoint.

I checked the rest of the “artwork” and sure enough. All needlepoint. Most were large canvases of majestic British mansions which somehow seemed vaguely familiar, but there were also a couple of very small works of koala bears done with more beginner-level, childlike talent. 

I heard shouts from outside and dashed to the window. Too engrossed in my Goldilockyness, I hadn’t heard Matthias drive up. Out front, he argued with his dad. Hands flew in all directions. 

“Why wouldn’t I invite her in?” Sheriff Payne sounded exasperated. “Reece is constantly grumbling about the boys always being at the ranch.”

Reece? Oh, Blake’s giant of an uncle who, along with Blake, ran their dude ranch. Hex Boys weren’t big on me talking to him either.

“I don’t go to the ranch.” Matthias pulled his hair back. “He should tell them to leave if he doesn’t like it.”

“Of course he likes it. He’d like it even more if you were there too. And I’d like it if you guys were all here sometime. But they never come here. So when we get one guest. A girl even. A nice girl that you’re hanging out with—”

“We’re not hanging out.”

“I know you’re not romantic, but you have been hanging out. And despite what Bancroft thinks,
I
think it’s great. As long as you’re careful.”

“How do you know we’re not…romantic?” Matthias made the last word sound like a flesh-eating virus.

“She told me. Which is another thing—”

“
Told
you? You interrogated her? And asked about us being
romantic
?”

Yep, flesh-eating virus again.

“Yes, Matthias. I tied her in a chair in the basement, stuck a light bulb in her face, and tortured her until she talked. Goodness, give me a little credit.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“It was a friendly conversation.”

“You don’t have friendly conversations.”

“Maybe I would if you ever had friends over to have friendly conversations with. She says you have lots of girls at school who like you. There’s no rule that says you can’t date.”

“Are you kidding me?” The Aussie’s voice hit a new high. “There are no girls.”

“That did seem iffy. Which reminds me—”

“Is this about that bloody newspaper story? She’ll pay for that, trust me. Where is she now?”

“In your room, but before you—”

“What!” His pitch could shatter glass.

Matthias turned to glare at his bedroom window. I jumped back and slammed against the bookcase. Did he see me? I wouldn’t look, but heard feet running. A book tumbled down over my shoulder. I scrambled to catch it.

“Matthias, I need to talk to you about something!” his dad yelled. “Bloody hell.”

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. I’d just finished shoving the fallen book in place when the Aussie filled the doorway. His frantic eyes swept the room as he flipped back the waves of hair that fell over his forehead.

“What did you touch?”

“Are you going to spray everything for cooties?”

His pale eyes narrowed. “Maybe.”

“Then I touched everything.”

“Very funny.” Beneath his dry tone was an underlying thread of panic as his eyes kept darting to the trunk then the bookcases. “You’re early.”

“No, you’re late.”

“You should have waited for me outside. And never,
ever
have talked to my dad. I told you to stay away from him.”

“Mr. Hospitality doesn’t exactly take ‘no’ for an answer. You said he was supposed to be gone.”

“He was. He’s acting weird.” Matthias was fidgety. “I think he knows something. What did you tell him?” 

“Nothing. But you can tell me something.” I stepped closer to the bookcase and ran my hand along the edge. He tensed. “About your…eclectic, shall we say, choice of reading material.” My knuckle tapped my chin. “I kind of get the Greek epics, Shakespeare, Edgar Allan Poe — for sure — and even Mark Twain, but—”

“Samuel Langhorne Clemens.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.”

I knew there was an insult in there somewhere just wasn’t sure where, so I ignored it.

“Anyway, what has me completely stumped is the complete library of classic romantic literature.” I hoped my smile had a Cheshire Cat vibe. “There’s Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters just to name a few. Even first editions of
Pride and Prejudice
,
Jane Eyre
, and
Wuthering
Heights
.”

He sighed and leaned against the doorjamb. “Your point?”

“My
point
? Come on. You have to admit these are some strange titles for any guy, but you? What’s the story?” I laughed. “Get it?
Story
. Because—”

“It’s none of your business,” he snapped.

I meandered around the room, gesturing at the walls. “And these needlepoints?”

As soon as I moved, Matthias nearly sprinted to the bookcase, immediately honing in on the book I’d knocked over. He grumbled something under his breath, and taking the ancient volume from where I’d replaced it, he put it somewhere else. Its
proper
place, I’d guess. Then he took the photos I’d moved aside and arranged them in their original positions. 

“Come on, Matthias,” I said with a wicked laugh. “I’ve got you now. Spill your secrets.”

I was all but rubbing my hands with glee thinking how I could use this knowledge against him when his shoulders slumped. His hand raked violently through his hair. When he finally faced me his expression was so desperate and defeated I almost felt sorry for him.

“The guys don’t know. Aurora, please, don’t tell them.
Please
. They’d never understand. I’m begging you.” He dropped his face in his hands. 

“Um.” Oh, jeez, were his shoulders shaking? Yikes. “Ummm. Okay. Yeah, sure.” Should I pat his back or something? No. He might bite. And I wasn’t sure he’d had all his shots.

His head came up, his face red. He squinted a hard look, part suspicion, part fear, part hope. “Are you playing with me? You’re going to tell them, aren’t you?” He groaned. “Sure you are! Now everybody can have a good laugh at the sad, lonely, pathetic idiot.”

“No, I promise.” Keeping the Aussie’s secrets? This was new. “I won’t tell.”

His expression turned to relief. “Thanks. I’ll tell you sometime. And I’ll tell them. Just…not yet.” He stood tall, pulling himself together. “Besides, we have too much to do. Jenny’s ready to check out your powers. And don’t worry. Most people live through his training.”

“
Most
people?”

“Yup. Let’s go.” 

Matthias changed in the closet, ditching the T-shirt, jeans, jacket, and boots for sweats and running shoes. “I think Jenny was kidding about the bullets.”

Oh, that made it all okay.

He glanced up from tying his sneakers, his look smug. “Gonna chicken out?”

“Of course not.”

Yes, please. Where’s the official Chicken Out form?

“It’s just that I’ve got to be home for dinner or Mom’s got this whole Interpol thing happening.”

He rose and slapped my back. “No worries, mate. You have my word. Dinner. On time. Let’s hit it.”

I followed him downstairs. Heading to my doom? 

“Dad! Aurora and I are going out.”

Sheriff Hottie came out of the kitchen, a dish towel flung over his shoulder. “Like on a date?”

I laughed. Matthias cringed.

“No, Dad. Like on a workout. And you wonder why I don’t tell you anything.”

“Come again, Aurora. I make a mean key lime pie.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Matthias grabbed my elbow and steered me out the door. “Actually, it is delicious. Wouldn’t want to waste it on you.’

“Bye, guys. Have fun.” The sheriff waved. “Love you, Matty.”

“Love you t—” Matthias froze. Paled.

He turned to say something to his dad, but the sheriff had wisely ducked back into the kitchen out of sight. Which left me as the sole recipient of “Matty’s” squinty-eyed glare. A creepy smile slithered onto his mouth, his voice cold menace. 

“Let’s go have some fun.”