Chapter One
Kate
Hell hounds outside; hell house inside. What more could we ask for? Human skulls nailed to the ceiling, apparently.
It’s been, oh, about twenty-four hours since my twin brother, Logan, and I showed up at a youth leadership conference for supernaturals. We’ve learned so much already . . . leading a small group of our fellow campers in a flight for our lives.
Of course, real leaders wouldn’t have left three-quarters of the campers behind to fend for themselves. Still, considering that those campers tried to burn us at the stake, I’m thinking we can be forgiven for not circling back to make sure they’re okay.
Logan would say I’m being flippant to hide the fact that I hate leaving them behind. They aren’t monsters who wanted to burn werewolves. They’re infected supernatural teens, and abandoning them to their fate is wrong.
Wrong, but also necessary, considering the part where they want to kill us. Logan and I need to focus on the four campers with us, who haven’t been infected. Four lives we can save. Though, at this point, they’re as likely to save us.
There are six of us. Logan and me, plus another werewolf, Elijah. Allan and Holly, sorcerer and witch respectively. And one really cranky not-quite-vampire named Mason. We escaped the funeral pyre, only to find the hell beasts in the forest, and we’ve managed to take refuge in that horror film staple: an abandoned cabin in the woods. It’s already going smashingly as we stand inside, staring at the skulls on the ceiling and the femurs nailed over the front door.
“Tell me this is a good sign,” Elijah says as I investigate the femurs. “I don’t know shit about magic, so just tell me this is powerful mojo that will keep us safe, and not proof that someone’s been using this place for ritual sacrifice. Those are just old bones. Really, really old. Better yet, plastic. Halloween decorations.”
“The fact that they’re nailed to the door does suggest ritual magic,” Holly says. “Protective magic like the warding.”
Elijah walks up beside me and murmurs, “Not plastic, are they?”
I shake my head.
He lowers his voice even more. “Not old, either, right?”
I glance up at him.
“Shit,” he mutters.
I sneak a look at Logan. Our eyes meet, and he gives the slightest shake of his head. Elijah may have been joking about pretending they’re Halloween decorations, but no one needs details right now. Not when the answers aren’t the sort anyone will like.
My Dad’s specialty is cultural anthropology, and I’ve studied some physical anthropology—the archeology side. I’m no expert, and there’s no way in hell I can guess age. I just know these bones aren’t nearly as old as we’d like them to be.
“They’re fine,” I say firmly. “They’re being used to protect the house like Holly said. Keeping evil from crossing the threshold. It’s a good thing I didn’t get this door open, or Mason would have burst into flame, entering without an invitation.”
“I heard that,” Mason calls from the next room. “Also not true. I can go where I want, no invitation needed.” He steps into the entryway, sees the bones and says, “Fuck. Remind me why we’re here again?”
“Because, at the risk of repeating myself, it’s better than being out there. And right now, that’s as good as it gets.”
We poke our heads into the other rooms and confirm we’re alone. It’s a small, rectangular wood cabin. One entry door. Two bedrooms, a kitchen, a living room and a primitive bathroom. We also check out the broken window and confirm the hell hounds are still there. It takes Holly’s spell to make them manifest, but once cast, we see the ugly beasts prowling the cabin’s perimeter. As much as we hate those warding bones, they’re part of the magic keeping the hell hounds out. Good enough.
Next step: catch our breath before we explore and come up with a plan. I’m in the bathroom, which is little more than an indoor outhouse, cleaning up. Or trying to—the tap has no running water. A generator must provide electricity to run the pump. We’ll find that later if we need to stay long. I’m really hoping we won’t.
Luckily, there’s a container of water under the sink for emergencies, and while I’m tempted to leave it for emergency drinking, I’m not convinced it’d be safe for that. It smells fine, though, even to a werewolf nose. I compromise by splashing a handful onto a towel and using it to wash the dirt and blood from my arms and face. I’m halfway through the job when a knock comes on the half-open door.
“Hey, Lo,” I say without needing to turn. “Come on in.”
He steps through, and he’s turning to close the door when Elijah appears, raising a “just hold on” finger.
For a second, I think my chronically polite brother is actually going to shut the door in Elijah’s face. But he hesitates and then grunts, sounding a lot like Dad.
“May I speak to Kate, please?” Elijah asks.
“After I do.”
Elijah’s dark eyes flash, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Logan says, “I need to speak to my sister about the current situation.” Their eyes meet, and I know something’s going on here. Before I can interject, Elijah eases back with a nod, and Logan shuts the door.
“What’s that about?” I ask.
“How are you doing?” Logan asks. “That demon threw you hard.”
Right. Did I mention the demon? Presumed master of the hell hounds? Yep, we’ve got that, too.
“I’m fine,” I say. “What’s with—”
Logan moves farther into the room and lowers his voice. “I know about Brandon.”
I blink, struggling to remember who the hell Brandon is. Oh, wait, that’d be my ex. My first long-term boyfriend, who cheated on me. I dumped his ass six months ago, and my school life has been shit ever since. That Brandon. Kind of hard to forget, which is proof of just how crazy these last twenty-four hours have been.
Logan rubs a hand over his mouth. “This is a lousy time to bring it up. I just . . .” He looks at me. “I know what Brandon did to you, and what you’ve been going through because of it, and when we get home, I’m asking Mom to switch schools.”
“You want me to go to another—?”
“Us. We’re switching schools.”
I square my shoulders. “I can handle it, Lo.”
“I know you can. The problem, Kate, is that I can’t. Send me back to that school, and I will hurt him. That sounds awful, and I’m ashamed to even say it, like I’m some kind of Neanderthal, protecting a sister who doesn’t need protecting. But the thought of what Brandon did . . .”
I say carefully, “I’m not sure what you heard, Lo, but he didn’t do anything. Not . . . whatever you might be thinking.”
“That he screwed around with another girl because you wouldn’t have sex with him. Then he told you about it. Then he told girls who already don’t like you, giving them ammunition to make your spring term a living hell. Is that not what happened?”
By the time he finishes, my eyes are brimming over. He sees that and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry. I can say I wish you’d told me, but I understand why you didn’t. It was my job to see that you were hurting. And I did. I just . . .”