Amaranthine Special Edition Vol I Read online

  As she locked the door behind her, a strange sense of foreboding swept over her, as though a dark cloud had crossed the sun and left her in shadow. She looked back at her apartment door; at the tiny gold numbers and the little wooden name plaque Sarah had made for her. She laughed at herself and her melodramatic mood.

  “Don’t worry,” she assured the empty hallway. “I’ll be right back.”

  **********

  Chapter Two

  The small house sat alone on a dead end road. Paint peeled from the weathered siding and golden weeds sighed against the foundation. A porch sagged in front of a rusty screen door that squeaked and swung when the breeze blew. Blank windows stared out, reflecting the line of fire that was the horizon.

  Katelina pulled her little red car off into the weeds and stared at her final destination. This had to be one of the dumbest things she’d ever done – second only to the night she’d picked up Patrick in the bar and taken him home.

  “What am I doing?”

  She’d gone for food. She’d made a mental list in her head that included ice cream and hot fudge, but then she’d driven right past the store. She supposed it was curiosity and a desire to have the entire disaster over and done with. She desperately needed to move on.

  She shut the car off and started to get out, then stopped. Should she really take all of her stuff with her? Her purse, her ID’s – her money? What if someone really was there, waiting to mug her? Wouldn’t that be a stupid thing to do?

  “Not any stupider then coming in the first place,” she mumbled as she dug out her phone. She cast about for a suitable hiding place for her purse and finally jammed the thing under the seat.

  The evening air was chilly, but it wasn’t yet night. She checked to make sure her doors were locked, then gave her car a final look. It would be okay. Everything would be okay.

  She circled the house. There was a back door that hung open and she could see a swath of old, empty kitchen through it. Dead leaves littered the floor and cobwebs hung in profusion. It took her only a second to realize she didn’t want to go inside.

  She made her way back to the front of the house and dropped to the ground for want of anything else to do. She could feel the comforting weight of her cell phone in her pocket. A connection to civilization; a lifeline.

  Still, the sun was dropping rapidly and soon she’d be lost in darkness. She shivered, whether from chill or anxiety, and Sarah’s words played through her mind, “That's how people get killed!” The night was getting nearer and those words seemed wiser and wiser with each second. She should have just called the police and stayed home; safe and secure in her contented shoe box of plasterboard and wood.

  Something crunched and her head snapped up in response. A lone figure walked slowly towards her from around the house. His hair and clothing were all black, as if he was a part of the night. He was like a shadow wraith formed from her fears, with only his pale face to give him the illusion of reality.

  He came to a stop in front of her and gazed down. He was tall and broad shouldered with a slim waist. His long hair fell down his back and seemed to blend into the long sleeved pullover. His mouth remained a tight–lipped line, though his eyes, dark and warm, seemed to be smiling at her.

  She scrambled to her feet and brushed uselessly at her clothes. Her eyes hurried to meet his and assure him she was as much in control as he was, though she felt anything but.

  When he spoke, it was the same voice she’d heard over the phone, deep and lyrical. “So you came?”

  She didn’t trust herself to say more than one word. “Yes.”

  “And you are alone?” His tone was matter-of-fact, rather than sinister, which comforted her slightly.

  “Yes.” She wadded her hands into useless fists at her side. A vision swam behind her eyes of black garbage bags in a ditch, filled with her own dismembered body parts and she wondered if it was too late to go home. “I’m alone, like you said.”

  “Good.” His voice was low and his mouth barely moved, as if he was afraid someone might overhear him. “Follow me.” Then he turned and walked towards the house.

  Katelina didn’t move. She stared at the old house and the blank windows stared back at her. She knew that following him wasn’t a good idea. He’d just ascertained that she was alone and now he wanted her to go with him into an empty house that might have anyone or anything hiding inside – waiting, as she had been waiting? No.

  He paused at the porch and turned back. “You think I'll hurt you?” He was smiling very slightly, though the dusky light made it hard to tell whether the expression looked sinister or appealing.

  “You might,” she said quietly, part of her afraid to verbally acknowledge the possibility. “I don't know you – I don't even know your name.”

  “It's Jorick. Does that make you feel better?”

  She could sense his amusement and waited for him to laugh. When he didn’t she answered truthfully, “Not really.” His smile was almost a smirk, and in another desperate attempt to control the situation she added quickly, “People know I'm here.” Her heart hammered as she realized that no one really did. She’d told Sarah about the call, but not the location. Great.

  Jorick raised his eyebrows in mock surprise and the smile deepened at the corners of his mouth. “Good. I’d hate to think you take such chances, Katelina.”

  “Just how do you know my name? And how did you get my work number?”

  His smile faded. “If you want to know who killed your lover, you’ll have to follow me inside. If you don't, then you can leave.” He shrugged as though it was of no consequence either way, then he opened the doors. “It's your choice.” With those words, he stepped over the threshold and disappeared inside.

  Katelina bit her lip and kicked the foundation, for good measure, cursing silently. She was sure that she’d end up dead before the night was over, thanks to her stupidity. Why hadn’t she stayed home? And why didn't she just leave now?

  She took a deep breath and forced herself to walk onto the porch. Her mind echoed a question, “Are you willing to die for this?” but she ignored it.

  Jorick appeared in the doorway holding a candle. The light reflected strangely on his skin and fully illuminated his impassive face. “Are you coming in or not?”

  Her heart pounded and a thought, unbidden, appeared in her mind: he was beautiful. His eyes were the color of dark wood, fringed in heavy lashes and framed by thick, dramatic eyebrows that arched ever so slightly. His lips were full and his skin was flawless and pale, like chiseled marble.

  Katelina could never explain what happened next. One minute she was standing on the porch, her mind tumbling in confusion. The next, she was inside the sad house with the door closing behind her. The sound of the chirping crickets broke through her uncertainty and slowly the world came into focus. The room was small. Water–stained wallpaper sagged from the walls, a non–descript color. A mass of footprints marked the dust covered floor. There was no furniture, only two grimy windows and a yawning doorway

  “This way.” He beckoned to her and ducked through the low doorframe – an elegant shadow cutting through the gloom.

  She still felt dazed, but as he drew further away the darkness thickened. She tugged out her cell and flashed the light around, but it was poor imitation of the warm candlelight. Imagined monsters lurked in the shadowy corners and suddenly Jorick seemed more appealing company – he might be a psychopath but he was at least a real person.

  She hurried to catch up to him. The next room was as abandoned as the first. The only contents were a large, empty trunk, copious amounts of cobwebs that traced along the stained, peeling walls, and the dirty windows. There was no way that Jorick could live in that house.

  They came at last to a padlocked door. Jorick fished through his pocket and produced a key that slid neatly into the lock. The tiny click echoed, its volume magnified by the intense stillness.

  “I don't often entertain company,” he said in lieu of an apology. He
swung the door open and started down a set of bare wooden stairs.

  Katelina hesitated. She’d seen enough horror movies to know what the basement represented. There was probably a torture chamber down there, and she wasn’t going to walk glibly into it! She imagined Sarah’s eye roll. “That’s just a movie, Katelina! This is real life, not TV.” And the imagined Sarah was probably right. This Jorick, whoever he was, knew Patrick, so chances were he was just squatting in an abandoned house. That was the kind of company he’d kept. Not really dangerous, just… weird.

  She clutched the cell, her finger on the emergency button, and forced herself down the stairs. Jorick waited for her at the bottom, and when she reached him he offered her another tight smile, no doubt meant to be soothing. Her eyes snapped from his face to their surroundings. A pile of wooden crates stood nearby and the rest of the basement was lost to thick shadows. If he was staying there where was he sleeping?

  Obviously impervious to her inner turmoil, he said slowly, “I believe that now is the time to ask how much you knew – or think you knew – about your lover?”

  Lover. She wished he’d quit using that word, though she supposed it was better than fuck buddy. She didn’t know a lot about Patrick. They had a deal limiting how much they shared; how involved they were. It had never sat well with her, but there it was.

  “I knew enough,” she answered evasively.

  Jorick’s expression was serious. “Do you know where he spent his Friday nights?”

  She shrugged. “He said he played poker. Look, I just want to know – ”

  He cut her off mid–sentence. “Before we begin, I think you need to be sure that you really want to know. The things you’ll find out... well, at the very least, they’ll change your perception of your lover. At the most they’ll change your perception of the world. Do you understand? You probably won't believe me at first, not because it's impossible, but because you won't want to believe me. Then will come the moment when it all becomes clear for you, when the truth stands out glaringly from the rest of the mess that we call life and reality. Then you may not like it anymore.”

  His speech was ridiculously overdramatic, like something from a late night TV drama. But, the serious expression on his face scared her just a little. What kind of secret did Patrick have? Did she want to know? Would it change anything, or make anything better? He’d still be dead, and the police wouldn’t arrest the murderer on her word alone – and probably not on Jorick’s, either. Still…

  She surveyed him coolly. There were only a couple of things she could think of that would radically change her opinion of Patrick, and none of them were pretty. But, if Patrick had been a monster of some kind then so be it.

  “I think I can handle it.” She crossed her arms over her chest for want of anything to do with her hands.

  “Are you sure? I’m not trying to frighten you or mislead you, but it may be a lot to take in at one time.”

  Katelina met his gaze head on, her face stubborn. “I'm sure. Go ahead and tell me.”

  **********

  Chapter Three

  Jorick gestured to the dusty stairs. “You might want to sit down first.”

  “No, thank you. I think I'm okay where I am.”

  “All right.” He set the candle on the floor, then leaned casually back against the wooden crates and looked thoughtful. “I wonder if you’ve ever met Patrick's brother, Michael?”

  “No.” Patrick had only spoken of his brother on a handful of occasions, and always with pity and regret.

  It seemed to be another expected answer. “Michael is the younger of the brothers, and not the smarter. He was too inquisitive for his own good. Michael discovered the secret of someone... someone very powerful.” He grimaced and then relented. “Claudius. Michael confronted him and, needless to say, it wasn’t well received. In order to guarantee that Michael stayed quiet, he was forced into. . .” Jorick hesitated, “. . . servitude, and in a sense Michael dragged Patrick into it as well. Every Friday night, Claudius would throw very exclusive, very expensive parties and Patrick and Michael were little more than his servants at them.”

  Katelina felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. So much for earth shattering revelations “So? He got involved with the Mob.”

  A partial laugh escaped Jorick’s tight lips. “So he really did tell you nothing. No, it wasn’t a gang. I believe the word you want is coven.”

  “A coven?” Now that was a surprise. Though it made sense. Patrick had held some weird ideas and had often had a paranoid, haunted look in his eyes. She’d had no idea that there were any cults around, though. “You mean like witchcraft? Freaky cults and stuff?”

  “Not exactly, but that definition will work for now.” He waved her to silence before she could ask what he meant. “At one of these parties, Michael started talking about things he shouldn't; specifically, people he should never have mentioned. Claudius likes to control people through fear, and the fear of harm befalling your loved ones is a very, very good motivator. Michael mentioned to the wrong people that Patrick was in love with you and – ”

  “Excuse me?” Why was Patrick’s brother discussing her in the first place, and why did he say… Patrick didn’t love her. They were casual! They’d agreed. Time and again they’d promised each other that it meant nothing. No commitment, no feelings, no attachment. That had been the deal – his deal. He’d insisted on it, made it clear it was that or nothing. And she’d agreed; not only agreed but kept her half of the bargain. Any time she’d felt close to him she’d reminded herself that he wasn't the kind of guy she could love. He had too much past and no future. The only way he was going was down; he just wasn't “boyfriend” material. He was made for casual affairs. He was… he was…

  Her brain stuttered and she glanced at Jorick. Only his eyes expressed anything, and they simply asked if she was all right. She looked away and jammed her phone in her pocket for something to do. “And?”

  He seemed to correctly guess her confusion, looked uncertain how to continue. “I’m sorry, I assumed, since you were lovers, that such attachment would be obvious, that some amount of… feeling was indicated…”

  She opened her mouth to correct him and then decided to leave it alone.

  With a final look of concern, Jorick continued. “Once Claudius knew you existed, he started using you to threaten Michael. Patrick didn’t know that his brother had spoken of you, and believed your existence to be a secret from the coven. That was Claudius’ new weapon, his way to control Michael. I’m sure you can imagine the consequences if Claudius hurt you, then told Patrick he’d discovered you through Michael’s indiscretion.” When she only blinked, he sighed and specified, “I’m certain Patrick would have wanted blood, brother or not, and Michael knew it. Because of that, it worked for a while, but Michael finally told his brother about his mistake and the threats Claudius had made. Patrick,” Jorick paused again. “Patrick didn’t take it well. He and Michael worked together to steal something that Claudius considers very precious, something he would kill for. They hoped to use it as a bargaining chip, but, as you know, it didn’t work.”

  Katelina stood silent for a moment, unsure what to feel. She tried to reason the crazy story out in her mind. If what Jorick said was true, then Patrick had been in love with her and had stolen something trying to… what? Protect her from Claudius and his cult?

  She cast her thoughts backwards, searching for a hint of what sounded like insanity. She went as far back as the night she’d met him in the bar. She could see it clearly: his black leather pants looked uncomfortably hot in the humidity and his tank top barely covered him. He'd been all blonde hair and smeared eyeliner, smelling of stale cigarettes and Captain Morgan, an easy smile on his lips and a twinkle in blue eyes that spoke of mischief.

  She suddenly felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She’d spent the last few weeks trying not think about him, not to picture him. Now, there he was before her eyes, laughing, inviting her for a drink, a
nd promising not to take advantage of her.

  Defeated, she dropped onto the stairs and let her elbows rest on her knees. “So I suppose Claudius killed him over this… ‘thing’?”

  Jorick seemed surprised at her assumption. “Claudius? No, it was Michael.”

  “His brother?” Michael was gone – had been gone, or so Patrick and the police said. He’d left months ago and never came back. If the story was true then that was probably when they’d stolen the thing and no doubt Michael had taken it somewhere and hidden it. But if he was guarding it, why had he come back? Why would he…

  She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because Patrick wanted to give ‘the thing’ back to Claudius in exchange for a promise that you wouldn’t be harmed. Meanwhile, Michael wanted to be released from Claudius’ service; however it doesn't work that way. Once you belong to Claudius, you belong to him forever. Patrick knew that; he knew there would be no deal unless they were willing to suffer for their misdeeds.” Jorick sighed almost sadly. “And so – as has happened since the dawn of humanity – brother killed brother; Cain killing Abel all over again.”

  Katelina struggled for words. “He couldn’t have…” She thought of Patrick’s mangled body, lying pale and mutilated in a pool of sticky congealed blood, his spinal column showing through where his throat should have been. “How did he do it? I saw the body. His throat was ripped out! No human could have done that.”

  “I didn't say his brother was human, did I?”

  “What?” As if there was something else to be! “If he wasn't human then what was he?”

  Jorick seemed to hesitate and then a smile flickered at the edges of his mouth. “Would you like to see?”

  Katelina leapt to her feet and looked around wildly. “What? He's here?”

  “Yes.” Jorick retrieved the candle. “I have him locked up right now.” His voice maintained its reassuring cadence. “It's perfectly safe. Come.” The last word was spoken softly, but it had the essence of a command.