Red House (6 page)

Pain gnawed at my stomach. A headache bloomed behind my eyes. The temptation to stop was great but I wanted to keep trying, at least for a few more minutes.

Finally, a flash of gold not quite the size of a dime winked into existence. It danced and jumped inside the glass, looking very much like a large spark thrown during welding. Ricocheting off the glass, it sped up until it seemed to stretch into shining lines. The glass wobbled, then exploded in a shower of jagged pieces. I rolled to one side, off the quilt and into the grass. Making things explode was not exactly what I’d had in mind, but it was better than nothing. A sense of accomplishment flooded me, pain quick on its heels. A piece of glass was embedded in my right upper arm, just below the t-shirt sleeve. Blood trailed to my elbow.

Swearing viciously, I considered my options. I could try to take care of it myself, drive to an emergency room, or wake my sleeping ancestor to perform first aid on my bleeding self. He’d done it before but it was the kind of thing that really drove home the fact he was a vampire.

After a tentative attempt to pull out the glass that made my stomach do a triple lutz, I decided to go wake Daniel. By cellphone.

* * * *

Blake was due to pick me up any minute. I still couldn’t believe we were going on a date. It seemed so normal. I wasn’t sure if I remembered how to do normal.

Since I had no idea where we were going, I erred on the side of casual and dressed in jeans and a dressy top with three-quarter length sleeves to cover the bandage on my arm. Daniel had done a good job patching me up. He insisted I explain what happened, but to his credit he refrained from lecturing.

He waited with me in the living room. The King Biscuit Time blues show warbled out of the antique radio. I tried reading but couldn’t focus on the words.

“Does he know I’m prepared to do murder on your behalf?”

“What the hell, Bubba?” I gave up on the paperback and set it on the coffee table. “I really don’t think you’ll be required to do murder.”

Daniel wore an expression that would have bordered on comical if I hadn’t known he was serious. “All I’m saying, he can’t be trusted. I know it and you know it, yet you still want to date him?”

Apparently Daniel had saved up all his lecturing for this moment. “Look–”

“I mean, what kind of woman wants to date an evil demon-conjuring sorcerer?”

“You’re about to cross a line,” I warned him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not the kind of thing generally covered under your typical points of compatibility, now is it?”

I rolled my eyes. “Now I know you’re just screwing with me.”

“Of course I am. You really think I would give you a free pass when you do something this dumb?”

“So you’ve never thrown caution to the wind and got involved with someone you knew you shouldn’t? In all the years you’ve lived, you really want me to believe you never did that?”

My own words caught me up short. It was one thing to admit to myself the folly of my attraction to Blake, but saying it out loud brought it out in sharp relief. Why was I about to go on a date with this man? Did I even like him? Sexual attraction, no matter how intense, didn’t count. So what was it? His dark eyes, the smirk that sometimes tilted into a smile, the shimmering aura that never failed to fascinate me–did those things count as something real?

But then, that was the point of the date, right? To see if there was anything real there, or if he was just some misguided fantasy.

“The mistakes I’ve made in the name of love are what will damn me to hell, Roxie, not being what I am.” Daniel spoke quietly. “I know you don’t like it when I daddy you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

I had no idea what mistakes he was talking about. Curiosity ate at me and I wanted to ask questions. He talked often enough about his past, usually entertaining stories about things he’d seen and done but rarely anything that so much as hinted at real darkness. I didn’t know how to respond.

He spoke again. “I can hear his car in the driveway.” He rose and walked across the room. I followed him, hoping he didn’t plan on greeting Blake at the door. Instead, he headed for the stairs. “I won’t say anything to him tonight but if you decide you’re going to keep him around, he and I will have a conversation.”

I worked really hard not to be offended and couldn’t quite get there. “I don’t need you to do that.”

“I know you don’t need it.” He leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Maybe I need it.”

A knock announced Blake’s arrival. Daniel made his way up the stairs, raising his glass in good night. I waited until he was out of sight before walking to the door. Hand on the knob, I paused for a moment, asking myself one last time if I really wanted to do this.

“Special delivery from the date of the month club.” Blake spoke loud enough to be heard through the thick oak door. “This month’s special, Harry Potter’s demented cousin.”

A smile came to my lips. I didn’t bother to hide it as I opened the door. “Strangely enough, that sounds like the kind of guy I’d pick for this month’s date.”

His jeans, black Danzig t-shirt and Doc Martens reassured me of my choice to dress casual. Not that I cared much about clothes at that moment, or anything else beyond the way he looked at me. No smirk, no guarded expression, only warmth and a hint of desire in his dark eyes and the slight curve of his mouth. My resolve to keep him at arm’s length weakened. I stepped onto the porch, pulling the door closed behind me, and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

Blake grinned. “If we’re starting the date with a kiss what can I hope for at the end of the evening?”

“Another one just like it.” And that would be all. Definitely. Probably. “So where are we going?”

“How does hot dogs and nachos sound for dinner?”

“You’re taking me to a drive-in?”

“I’m taking you to a baseball game.” He held up a pair of tickets. “We’re going to a Sounds game.”

I could not have been more astounded if he’d suggested square dancing and a Little Jimmy Dickens concert. “A baseball game? For real?”

His smile faltered. “What, do you not like baseball?”

“Baseball’s fine. I’m just surprised. It’s not what I expected, that’s all.”

He laughed but it didn’t sound like his usual laugh. He sounded nervous and that was just as shocking as his plans for our date. “Generally I wait until the third date to break out the kinky magic tricks.” But then the smirk reappeared and Blake the Sexy Sorcerer said, “But you’ve already had a taste of that, haven’t you, sweetness?”

In that moment I knew all I had to do was say the word and he’d take me back to his hotel, the back seat of his car, right there on the front porch–he’d take me wherever, whenever I allowed. The erotic promise in his eyes was matched by the sensual energy flowing between us. Was he doing that, directing energy toward me, or was it something that happened between us organically? Like the way magenta flared in his aura when he was turned on, or the way molten heat pooled in all the parts of me I wanted him to touch.

I had to get this under control before we really did wind up half naked and sweating in the back seat of his car. Grabbing the tickets, I looked them over. “Hey, it’s fireworks night.”

“It’s always fireworks night with us.” He grasped my arm to lead me down the steps. I managed not to gasp, but he could tell he’d hurt me and that there was a bandage on my arm. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little accident.”

He stared at me. “You sure?”

Did I want to talk to him about my explosive experiment? Of course, but at that moment I found myself more curious about the Blake who would take a girl to a baseball game than the Blake who practiced dark magic. A conversation about magic might be a little too welcome, a little too seductive, and I really wanted to keep my head for as long as I could. “I’m fine.” I went down the steps, hoping he would follow and take the cue to not worry about my arm. He did follow me down the steps at least. “So you really like baseball?”

“Hey, I can’t be Master of Darkness all the time.” He opened the passenger door of his car but stopped me before I climbed in. Tilting my chin up, he kissed me slowly, his tongue teasing just past my lips. “I just want to take you out, that’s all.”

“Let’s go, then.”

We had our normal night out, which had a gentle magic of its own. He even bought me a teddy bear in the team gift shop. By the time I fell into bed, alone and exhausted, I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that Blake acted like a perfect gentleman all evening. The content of my dreams suggested parts of me were very disappointed. I didn’t know what to make of this strange new creature, Blake the Sweet Sorcerer. It was interesting to see this side of him but I couldn’t help but wonder, who was he trying to convince that he could be this nice normal guy–me, or himself?

Chapter 5

Maple Hill Bed and Breakfast was twenty minutes southeast of the city. Turning off the highway onto the long driveway felt like slamming into a brick wall, metaphysically speaking. I hit the brakes, glad Mrs. Epps's sedan was in front.

A thick oppressive blanket of dark energy enveloped the property. I followed Mrs. Epps up the drive to the house. The grounds were dotted with tall sugar maples and mimosas and there were two colorful flower beds on either side of the front entrance. We parked at the side of the house and walked to the door. I detoured out into the yard, wanting to take a look at the energy signature of the house. I stowed my glasses in their case and dropped it in my backpack, then took my first good look at Maple Hill.

“Oh…damn.”

“What is it?” Mrs. Epps approached, twisting her keys nervously in her hands. “Are you seeing something?”

“The house, it’s–” I stopped, struggling to both find the words and the calm that had been severely damaged by what I was seeing. “It’s like it’s wrapped in this angry, powerful energy. It’s red. The house is red, Mrs. Epps.”

In my experience it was completely normal for buildings, both public places and private homes, to keep traces of leftover energy from the people and spirits who inhabited them. It could tell someone like me with any kind of psychic sensitivity a lot about the history of the building and the people associated with it. This cloak of shimmering red was telling me whatever spirit had taken up residence in this house was made of hate and would not go quietly.

“What does that mean?”

I didn’t want to tell her. She could read the answer on my face, though. “Well, then.” Her mouth settled into a grim tight line. “Are you ready to go on inside?”

I couldn't very well tell a client I felt the need for a magical bazooka so I lied. “Yes, let’s go in. It’s hot out here.” I wanted to at least walk through the house before I started sharing impressions with her.

As she unlocked the door she said, “Why don’t you call me Julia.” With a wry smile she added, “This just doesn’t seem like an occasion for formalities.”

Crossing the threshold quashed the laughter on my lips. A thin sheen of oily black ectoplasm shone on the walls of the foyer. The floor was littered with broken pieces of antiques and various items, also soiled with ectoplasm.

“What.” Julia paused to take a breath. “What is that?”

I took her arm and guided her to face me, making eye contact. “It’s called ectoplasm. It’s a substance that’s created by high levels of ghost and spirit energy. It’ll have to be cleaned, but it won’t hurt anything.”

She stepped away, staying in the foyer but peering into the connected rooms. “It’s everywhere.” The last of her composure melted. She spread one hand across the top of her blouse, pulling absently at the collar, while the other clutched her keys so tightly I was worried she might hurt herself. “Do you suppose the whole house is this bad?”

Licking my lips, I considered changing my working hours to night only. It sure would be nice to have some vampire backup right now. “Do you mind if I go through the house by myself? You could go wait in your car and when I’m done I’ll let you know what I find.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right in here by yourself?”

I nodded, hoping I looked reassuring. “Yes ma’am. This is what I do.”

“Yes, I suppose it is.” Looking around one more time, Julia shook her head and strode to the door. “I’ve got my cell if you need me.”

The moment she closed the door, leaving me alone in the house, something very much like a chuckle rippled through the air. I swallowed my nerves, squared my shoulders and went to work.

The place was even bigger than Daniel’s antebellum house, full of antiques and numerous guest rooms. A faint tang of dried blood added another layer of unpleasantness to the heavy air. There was plenty of evidence of ghost activity but nothing seemed to be active at the moment. The level of angry destruction inside the house matched the bands of red circling it.

I found the room where the kitten had been killed. Elegant yet comfortable furniture filled the room and bookshelves lined three walls. The fourth wall held framed photographs, both black and white and sepia-toned. “Get out” was scrawled in blood across the wallpaper and some of the photos in large, erratic letters, just as Julia described. Touching nothing, I walked around the room to survey whatever energy signatures I could make out under the sheen of ectoplasm covering everything. Other than a splash of empty black around the spot where the kitten was killed, there was nothing discernible.