The Mask of the Damned (The Damned of Lost Creek Book 2)

by Danae Ayusso

He cocked an eyebrow.

  I softly smacked him. “Stop reading me!” I complained and he chuckled. “We’re fine. Just tired and it was a bit of an information overload, but we’re good. It isn’t anything that’ll make us run. I promise.”

  Price nodded. “Of course. I love you, both of you.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I said, heading to the front porch.

  “Did you want to be my date for the Founders Day Carnival?” he asked.

  “The what?” I asked, stopping in mid-step.

  He smiled. “It’s a backwoods thing,” he teased.

  Really?

  I’m too tired to play.

  “Specifics?” I asked, trying to keep from sounding whiny but failed miserably.

  Price smiled. “Questionable carnival rides set up in the middle of Main Street, locals selling homemade stuff, baked goods and quilts, petting zoos for the kids, cotton candy, and music with dancing.”

  I have officially died and gone to hillbilly hell.

  “Will there be banjos?” I mumbled.

  “Yes.”

  “No,” I said.

  Again he laughed. “Sorry, Ellie won’t take no for an answer.”

  Daddy is playing with fire.

  “For some reason I’m not buying your apology,” I informed him, and he smiled wide. “It could be because you’re smiling like the Cheshire Cat.” I made a face and he laughed. “Will they have funnel cake?”

  His smile fell and concern flooded his face. “Yes, why?”

  I glared at him. “Stop reading me.”

  “It is hard not to,” he whispered.

  Apologize right this minute or so help me I will kick your ass!

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  I wish we didn’t have this stupid and extremely annoying ability, but I think it’s just us and not the curse.

  “This past spring we went to Penn’s Landing for the Philadelphia Science Festival. De’Von begged to go, and since it was free, I talked Blue Boy and the others into taking us. It was set up like a carnival with food and vendors, all kinds of science experiments and labs. I was able to procure some funnel cake,” I said with a shrug. “It was so good… Beyond good. Fried heaven on a paper plate,” I said, sighing. “It was one of the best things we had ever eaten until we discovered croissants.”

  And Grams’ cooking.

  True, I wonder if she can make funnel cake.

  We should ask.

  Yes, we should.

  Price ran his hands through his hair. “Why the emotional distress over the memory?” he whispered.

  I shrugged. “Later that night, we were rolled up on and Blue Boy, Tiny and Moe didn’t make it. A bunch of wannabe bangers thought they were going to make a name for themselves and rolled up on us while we were stopped at the light. They didn’t realize that none of us were in a gang or that Blue Boy and De’Von were off limits by directive from three of the major gangs because of who his daddy and grandfather was. I threw myself at De’Von, shielding him, forcing him to the floorboard. Blue Boy threw himself at me, taking seven shots to the back. I would have died if he hadn’t done that. I remember struggling under his body, he was a big boy, and his light blue eyes were stuck open, staring at me, his dark skin appearing almost pale, if that’s possible, in the scarce light. Moe was shot in the head and Tiny bled out in the passenger seat. De’Von was grazed by a bullet that went through his cousin’s body and had to get stitches… Him being harmed was nearly as world shattering as losing my best friend…” my words trailed off and I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheeks. “I guess that’s why I had an emotional response to such a simplistic thing,” I admitted. “Happy memory always laced with a horrific one.”

  “I’m sorry,” Price whispered.

  “Don’t be, it happens. I just wish the body count from the gang war that resulted from it hadn’t been so high… Blue Boy’s father is serving seven-life sentences and is one of the original leaders of one of the most dangerous and deadly gangs in Philadelphia history. Taking his son, his only son, out caused street violence that you couldn’t even imagine. Dozens were killed, over a hundred injured. It didn’t stop at the streets though. There was a riot at the prison and fifteen were killed, three guards injured, and I don’t even know how many inmates were injured.

  “Oh well, that’s life in Philly,” I said, wiping my eyes. “I honestly don’t understand why anyone would want to live there. I don’t miss it. I don’t think that I miss the people even… I miss some of the people. I miss De’Von and Mama Jones, Papi, Em, and a few others that tried to move Heaven to spare me from Hell, and that protected me when the State failed to do so.” I shook my head, trying to find the words. “It’s like it was a dream... A really messed up dream that I remember when I wish I didn’t.

  “When I look at my life here, even with the curse and our damned status in mythical society,” I said with a humorless chuckle, “compared to the one I had in Philly it’s night and day. That life was just a bad dream and no matter how messed up reality in Anaconda might get, is, or could ever be, it doesn’t bother me because it can’t compare to the nightmare that I lived for all those years in Philly. You’re scared that reality is going to hit me and hit hard. And that I’m going to run or resent or hate you later. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Dad, but that isn’t going to happen.”

  Price looked at me with wide eyes. “It isn’t?” he sheepishly asked.

  I shook my head. “It isn’t. We’re cursed. We’re part of the damned. You and my uncles are immortal. My aunts, grandmother and cousins were all killed because of the result of the selfish actions by one man, and it in turn killed many and devastated countless families, including my own. I’m completely accepting of all of that, Dad. I really, truly, honestly am. It doesn’t faze me in the least. What I’m scared of is you running, you turning from me, because of this, because I’m a female, because I’m your sole heir… Because of everything that I’m desperately trying to keep from you and deal with privately. You’re scared, Dad, but I’m terrified of everything that you are.”

  Price nodded, offering a small smile. “I’m glad you’re accepting of it and everything, but I’ll never stop being fearful of you hating me.”

  “A father would never stop fearing the worst when it comes to the well-being and safety of his child,” I agreed.

  He smiled, fuller. “No, he wouldn’t.”

  “You’re a good father, Dad. Never let anyone, especially a piece of shit like Soren Van Zul, tell you otherwise. I’m going to turn in. Good night, Daddy.”

  Price nodded and watched me take the stairs to the front porch.

  Celeste was sitting there, waiting for me.

  That brings up another question.

  “What’s with these animals?” I asked. “They’re too smart and dedicated to be your run of the mill lapdogs and ponies,” I said.

  Price looked from me to the large black dog that was giving him her resting bitch face. “They’re Guardian Spirits,” he said.

  I looked between the dog and Price. “And that is?” I asked the obvious.

  “They’re personal protective spirits that manifest as animals. They act as guardians and protect us from the unseen, those entities that are beyond our perceptions, and they warn us of danger. Typically the Guardian Spirit manifests itself when we switch vessels to guide us through the transition and to help keep us on the path.”

  You really shouldn’t have asked.

  I’m in complete agreement with you on that one.

  This is giving me a headache.

  “What path?” I reluctantly asked.

  He shrugged, looking at Celeste. “Righteousness, I suppose. Have you not been curious as to why I choose to build green in order to help the environment? Or why your uncles and cousins are in law enforcement and another is a geneticist? Those are all noble professions that are geared towards helping others. The Van Zuls make their money by different means that are questionable in a moral sense, so they haven
’t been blessed with Guardian Spirits. Some say it’s a blessing, William doesn’t agree. None of his Guardians particularly cared for him. However, I’ve never seen one, or two for that matter, attach themselves to a child before. Typically they are only tied to the immortals of our family tree.”

  Of course not, why would I be special?

  “Celeste is a Guardian Spirit, is Moonshine?” I asked.

  “Not exactly. He’s a Spirit Steed. They are carriers of the messengers between worlds: the spirit world and the human world–”

  I put my hand up to stop him. “I’m done. Goodnight.” I headed across the porch. “Next time I ask, just tell me that I don’t want to know and I’ll get it. Spirit pooches and ponies, lovely, what’s next? Moving houses… Oh wait, I already have one of those.” I threw my hands up in the air, completely aspirated. “How about woods that move… Oh wait, yup, got that as well, and the boyband reject behind it! Whatever, I’m going to bed. Night, Dad.” I waved over my head.

  “Are you okay?” he called out after me.

  “Yup, it’s merely a headache from the paranormal information overload. I just need to sleep it off.”

  “I love you!” he called out.

  Again, I waved over my head before heading inside the house.

  I silently closed the front door behind me, not wanting to alert the others that we are back. I’m not in the mood for company. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep for the next hundred years before facing this new curse ridden, damned filled, world that I live in.

  When I reached the landing, I stopped in mid-step.

  Coming down the stairs was Draven.

  This can’t be happening, not now.

  “Welcome back,” he greeted. “Are you turning in for the night?” he asked.

  Absently, I nodded.

  “What are you wearing?” I blurted out.

  Instead of the designer jeans and fitted long sleeve shirt, he wore a pair of athletic shorts that showed his amazing legs and the roundness of his ass and a heather gray shirt with a faded navy screen-printed Anaconda High wrestling logo on it. Instead of overly expensive boots, he was wearing a pair of Big Foot slippers.

  Draven looked himself over then to me. “I’m ready for bed. The questionable slippers were from Simian last Christmas. Thankfully the batteries finally died. They growl then you step. I honestly don’t know how that man was able to get a gun and badge. He is a child in the body of an adult.”

  That’s true, but it didn’t answer my question.

  “You’re getting ready for bed here?” I asked, looking around to make sure no one saw him.

  Dramatically he rolled his eyes then turned and headed back up the stairs.

  I stood there, watching his ass as he went.

  “Training Bra, stop objectifying me,” he scolded when he reached the top of the stairs, then he beckoned me to follow with his finger.

  I glared at him and followed, quickly taking the stairs two at a time.

  He strolled down the hallway, the opposite direction that my room was before walking into one of the rooms I thought was empty.

  “Where are you going?” I hissed, hurrying after him.

  Draven stood in the room, giving me a look. “To my room,” he said, as if it were obvious.

  The bedroom wasn’t as large as mine, but it was close. The walls were muted gray with white crown and base molding. There’s a large black wood bed, black leather furniture, and a fireplace. A television was mounted above the fireplace, and on the wood mantel were framed pictures.

  Unable to stop myself, I entered without an invitation and went to the mantel and looked over each photo.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

  There was no mistaking the pale child with the black eyes and hair with his arm over the freckle-faced blond, or the gangly young teens with medals around their necks and wrestling singlets on, their arms over each other’s shoulders.

  “You and Shep?” I asked, picking up one of the framed photos.

  He nodded then shrugged.

  In the black and white picture was Price on horseback with Draven on a horse next to him, both were wearing cowboy hats and smiling. There was no way Draven was older than six in the photo, and there was something strangely familiar about his round, pale face.

  “This is your room?” I wanted to clarify, putting the picture back, trying to ignore the headache this is causing.

  Again, Draven nodded. “Once upon a time, as hard to believe as this might sound, Misha and I were considered brothers. Then, bitches got in the way.”

  Not entirely sure what that meant, I looked back to the pictures.

  “Dannette asked Price to let you stay here because of Soren, didn’t she?” I asked.

  “Oui,” he said, his door closing before he was suddenly behind me, his hands resting on my hips and he pulled me back into him. “And I promise to be on my best behavior,” he whispered, huskily in my ear.

  Ew.

  I slammed my elbow into his stomach and he grunted.

  “Get Winnie from between my ass crack before I break him off,” I warned, shoving his hands from my hips then stepped away from him.

  “As you wish,” Draven said then appeared stretched out on the bed, crossing one foot over the other and his slippers growled. “You and Price have a good ride?”

  I tried to glare at him, but it’s impossible to keep a straight face when a sexy man whore is stretched out on the bed wearing Big Foot slippers that are growling at you.

  “Seriously?” I asked, chuckling.

  Draven smiled wide, kicking out of the growling slippers.

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded.

  “You could have been more forthcoming when it came to the damned thing,” I complained.

  “I told you more than I was supposed to, but he’ll forgive me,” Draven retorted. “You didn’t try to run and appear accepting of it.” He patted the spot on the bed next to him. “Sit.”

  “I’m not of these dumb backwoods cockhounds that does everything you say,” I reminded him, sitting in one of the chairs instead.

  Of course, he chuckled.

  “Believe it or not, I’m still torn on that one, Training Bra,” he said before disappearing then reappearing sitting in the chair next to me. “Did you need to talk?” he asked.

  Talking is the last thing I want to do.

  “I’m numb, again,” I said.

  “That’s to be expected,” he assured me. “There’s nothing wrong with feeling overwhelmed and mentally exhausted, Training Bra. You had a rough day and received a crash course in the damned. That’s enough to cause someone to run screaming. Ask Simian,” he said.

  “Ask him what?” I reluctantly asked.

  Draven shook his head. “It was rhetorical. I wouldn’t suggest asking Simian about the fat girl he told the family secret to.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She freaked out and called the authorities on him.”

  My eyes widened.

  “My uncle had to jump into her body, recanted her statement then killed himself so he could jump into a new vessel,” he explained.

  “What the…” my words trailed off.

  Draven made a face. “Fils de pute,” he said, berating himself. “Price didn’t speak of the unmentionable side effect of the curse for the immortals,” he surmised.

  “Not in so many words,” I whispered, struggling to swallow the lump that formed in my throat.

  “Putain,” he hissed. “Forget I said anything.”

  I punched him in the arm. “No, you will tell me.”

  Draven glared at me.

  I glared in return, leaning into him, making a face; nostrils flared, mouth twisted, brows pulled together before my eyes crossed.

  The corners of his mouth twitched before he waved his white flag of surrender. “Very well,” he said, and I leaned back in my chair. “Price and the others of your family, those that are cursed with immortality, have to kill
in order to survive,” he said, speaking softly, his attention on the bedroom door, watching to make sure no one entered.

  I nodded.

  I have mixed feelings on that. I’ve done it before myself so I can understand and relate on some level, but I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around how many people they’ve killed over the span of centuries. It would be one thing if it were just a couple of people and he lived to a hundred in his first body and each of the next, but that isn’t the case, I’m sure.

  “Do you know how many?” I asked.

  Draven shook his head. “Each immortal is different. On the Van Zul side: Soren doesn’t want to look older than fifty-five. Gérard allows the vessel to die naturally. Mattieu goes through them rather quickly since he’s stupid and usually gets himself killed before the vessel can fully change into his original form. Émile is much like Mattieu and gets himself killed often. Laurent… We don’t talk about Laurent, or Guifford. Never talk about Guifford,” he sternly warned, wagging a scolding finger at me. “Marian usually dies of liver failure because of his drinking. On the Simoeau side, from what I understand, Price’s sin of choice is vanity, followed by heartless sacrifice.”

  The pictures of the family from various wars was Price and the others, not ancestors with strong genetics they passed down.

  “The others of your clan usually allow nature and their line of work to dictate their lifespan,” he continued. “It’s rather admirable comparatively speaking to the others. When they take a vessel out of unplanned necessity it usually causes complications.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Imagine, if you will, your loving father suddenly ups and leaves, as if overnight he became someone else, a complete stranger. Then he turns his back on you, his family, his business and life. He simply walks away from you and the people he once knew and loved, and he starts a new life with a new family.”

  I shook my head; this is almost too much to process now.

  “The tourists?” I whispered.

  Draven wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek. “A term Soren came up with when Anaconda had the mining boom,” he explained. “It became like shopping then. Where they could pick and choose who it was they were going to take, to kill in essence. It was something that was sometimes involuntary but was necessary for survival. Nick once compared it to breathing: it was beyond their control but they had to do it in order to survive. Sometimes the vessel will reject them. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does, it causes the soul to be rebound into another. When that happens, their memories are lost to them at first, then they slowly come back as the vessel returns to the natural form of the soul within.”