Authors: Jonathan Janz
House of Skin (45 page)
But Ben seemed unabashed. Maybe he’d expected a rise out of their host.
“I only mean, do you know the story, and if you do, does it bother you?”
Blackwood swiveled completely around and looked at Ben as though he’d suggested they purposely crash the helicopter. “Of course I know the goddamn story.” Blackwood glanced open-mouthed at Granderson. “Christ, you believe this guy?”
Granderson kept quiet but eyed Ben in the overhead mirror.
Blackwood shook his head and returned his gaze to the front of the chopper. Eddie glanced back at Ben, who shrugged and commenced staring out the side window.
After an interminable silence, Granderson said, “You should find the castle well furnished. I brought supplies earlier.”
“Any liquor?” Eddie asked.
“The castle has a fully stocked wine cellar.”
“I thought the island was abandoned in 1925,” Ben said. “Does wine keep that long?”
For a moment no one said anything, but Eddie could see that this was another subject that made Chris Blackwood uncomfortable. His shaggy, blond hair dark around the edges, the guy was sweating like a teenager whose girlfriend was late for her period.
“The wine in the cellar is fifteen years old,” Granderson said. “At that time Chris’s parents renovated the castle with the notion of transforming it into a vacation retreat.”
The helicopter banked right, heading for the castle lawn.
“I never heard about that,” Ben said.
“You wouldn’t be likely to unless you were one of the laborers or a member of the Blackwood family.”
They descended.
“Claire?” Ben asked, and as Eddie craned his head around, he was amazed at the change in her. Upon takeoff she’d been quiet but composed. Her blonde hair had looked stylish, and though her makeup was minimal, the natural look suited her. All in all, Eddie felt he’d underestimated her the night before. Some might even call her pretty.
Now she looked like a plague victim.
Eyes glazed over, large beads of perspiration dotting her skin, her complexion had taken on a sallow hue.
Eddie scooted forward in case she puked.
The helicopter met solid ground. Chris Blackwood opened the door and hopped out of the chopper. Rather than helping them down, Blackwood moved off toward the woods.
Some host, Eddie thought.
He climbed out and reached up to help Eva. As he did so, he caught an exhilarating glimpse of sheer black underwear.
Naughty girl.
He wondered how long it would take to see the rest of her.
In the back seat of the helicopter, Claire sat still and willed her pulse to slow, her nausea to subside. The whirling blade, its whumping revolutions reminded her of that Poe story “The Pit and the Pendulum.”
Ben was watching her, concerned.
Claire forced herself to smile, to ignore the huge, deadly cleavers swinging above their heads.
“Not a fan of helicopters?” he asked.
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said. “I didn’t want you to think I was a wimp.”
He helped her down, his hands strong yet gentle on her arms and back. Glad to be on firm ground, Claire watched Eva approach. The woman was, if anything, more exquisite than the night before at Lee Stanley’s party. Claire almost convinced herself the sudden bitter tang in her mouth was from her fear of flying.
“You felt it too,” the woman said.
Claire watched her uncertainly.
Eva put an arm around her. “You don’t like this place, do you?”
The hand on her back was firm, protective.
“I don’t like flying is all,” Claire said. “I’ve always been that way.”
Eva’s hand lingered there a moment, then the woman released her and went to retrieve her suitcase, which Granderson had placed on the ground. As Eva moved away, Claire took in the glossy black hair, the supple brown skin and felt a wave of self-consciousness. With a creature like this along, would Ben even notice her?
Enough of that
, she told herself.
You’re here to learn your craft, not to hook up
.
“You want me to carry your case?” Ben asked.
“No thanks,” she said. She pulled out the handle. “Mine rolls.”
Ben nodded and shouldered his bag.
She stayed behind a moment and gazed up at the castle. Yes, she decided. There was an intelligence in its towering pallid contours. Something corrosive and upsettingly sly. It reminded her very much of another Poe story, “The Fall of the House of Usher.”
Except this building did not look like it could fall. It looked like it would stand forever, far outliving its inhabitants.
Or claiming them.
Shivering a little, Claire followed the others inside.
House of Skin
Jonathan Janz
All it needs to live again is fresh blood!
Myles Carver is dead.
But his estate, Watermere, lives on, waiting for a new Carver to move in.
Myles’s wife, Annabel, is dead too, but she is also waiting, lying in her grave in the woods.
For nearly half a century she was responsible for a nightmarish reign of terror, and she’s not prepared to stop now.
She is hungry to live again…and her unsuspecting nephew, Paul, will be the key.
Julia Merrow has a secret almost as dark as Watermere’s.
But when she and Paul fall in love they think their problems might be over.
How can they know what Fate—and Annabel—have in store for them?
Who could imagine that what was once a moldering corpse in a forest grave is growing stronger every day, eager to take her rightful place amongst the horrors of Watermere?
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B
Cincinnati OH 45249
House of Skin
Copyright © 2012 by Jonathan Janz
ISBN: 978-1-60928-913-3
Edited by Don D’Auria
Cover by Angela Waters
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First
Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
electronic publication: June 2012
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