by Angie Fox
We waited until our hostess retreated into the back, then we raced up the stairs like we were on fire.
Oh my God. I fought back a giggle and Dimitri smothered me to his chest at the top of the landing. He might be as stealthy as a shape shifter, but I felt like an ox going up those stairs.
I covered my mouth, but still, my face hurt from grinning as he took my hand and pulled me down the hall. The air hung heavy and stale. The narrow, dark corridor offered the perfect place to hide.
Dimitri pushed open a door at the end and yanked me inside. Shadows clung to the corners of the room. A layer of dust coated the antique furniture. No one had ventured up here for a long time. We were truly alone. Free. In an old-fashioned Victorian bedroom. I ran a hand over the carved wood chest of drawers with its chilly marble top and delicately woven lace dresser scarf.
I couldn't believe I was doing this. I'd never let myself consider it before. Not in my un-wild, un-crazy teenage years. And certainly not in my responsible twenties.
Dimitri's voice sounded rough, hungry. "Come here," he said, with the same excitement I felt. He kissed me hard, backing me up against the bed. I squealed as he tipped me down on the mattress.
"Impatient much?" I asked, giving him a saucy grin.
Wait until he got a look at my sexy red bra and panties.
He shook his head, advancing on me, all alpha male and sexy. "It's been way too long."
Since we were back home and not sneaking around. Hiding.
Well, technically we were sneaking.
"Then come and get it," I said, sliding my hands inside his shirt as he came down on top of me. He was warm, solid. His masculine scent and his strong presence enveloped me. I would never get enough of this man.
I kissed him with everything I had and I swore the room itself started to spin.
He felt heavier on top me, not uncomfortable exactly. Still, he didn't usually press down so hard.
I slid my hands up his sides, tried to get around the front of his belt buckle. It took all my effort to pry it open. This was the man who'd fought demons for me. He'd gone to hell and back (literally) for me.
That in itself was so heady that I felt mesmerized. Captured.
A frantic barking sounded outside the door. Pirate. I couldn't hear what he was saying. He seemed far away.
Dimitri blazed a trail of kisses down my neck, to my collarbone.
I couldn't see the top of the canopy anymore. It was dark.
Too dark.
"Wait." I tried to sit up. Something wasn't right.
Boom.
I felt like I'd been zapped by about a thousand volts of static electricity. The bed lurched. "Dimitri!" If I didn't know better, I'd think the entire room had spun off into oblivion. My fingers felt numb as I gripped his shoulders.
He was a dead weight now, struggling to move. He shoved hard against the bed and fell away from me panting.
Oh hell.
Blackness saturated the room, growing stronger. Heavier.
We had to get out of here. I struggled off the bed. My arms and legs tingled, like they were asleep as I forced my way to the door and yanked it open.
Pirate dashed inside. "Cut it out! In a jiffy! She says you can't do what you were doing!"
I didn't care what the owner thought. "Help!" I yelled down the stairs. "Something's up here!"
We needed people, noise, anything to fight back the darkness.
Pirate jumped up on the bed next to my husband. "There's nobody down there to call 911," my dog said, eyes wide. "We've been transported!"
"That doesn't make any sense." Dimitri drew a labored breath, working to buckle his belt.
"You can't do what you were doing," Pirate insisted. "I told her you were just wrestling on the bed. You always do that. But she said, 'not here!'"
I braced a hand against the bedpost as electric shivers ran up and down my body. Why weren't we getting any help? And if we were transported, "Who in Hades were you talking to?"
Pirate let out a heavy sigh. "The lady of the manor. My new friend."
The matronly ghost from downstairs shimmered into view next to my dog. Her upper half anyway. She stood in the middle of the bed, her grey hair, pulled into a severe twist, shimmering with a light of its own. Her face drew tight with fear. "It's too late. He's taken you."
Dimitri rolled away from her. "Who?"
"The master of the house. He's pulled you to another dimension." She cowered, as if she were afraid of being struck. "He rules here."
Bruises blossomed on her cheeks, neck and forehead.
It felt like the air itself tried to suck the life out of us.
Cripes. We needed the biker witches. I ran to the window.
We'd taken a room at the far end of the hall, toward the back of the house. The witches should be right outside, past the cemetery. I threw open the velvet curtains and let out a choked cry when I saw an empty field.
"Ohhh biscuits," Pirate said, pacing the bed. "The lady's right. That ghost took us. We're in the wrong dimension. I'm in a freaky house with a bad guy."
"Run," Dimitri ordered. Never mind the fact he was too weak to stand.
The ghost let out a keening wail as she sank down into the bed. Her eerily high voice settled low in my gut. "He's coming."
"Who?" I demanded, then changed my mind. "What is the master of the house?" We had to learn what kind of a creature we were dealing with. Before it attacked.
"I can feel him." Pirate squeaked. "He's right below us!"
The ghost brought a finger to her lips. "Shh..." Her eyes held sadness. Bruises and blood marred her face. "My husband." Her gaze locked on the door. "He's a very pious man. He won't stand for fornication in his house."
"We didn't!" I protested. Not yet anyway.
From what I could see, her husband had been a violent man in life. And he'd morphed into something just as vicious after death. We needed a plan. Now.
Chapter 3
Stop. Think. If sexy vibes had caused all of this… I reached into my belt for the anti-passion spell Grandma had given me, the mucky brown and green one. I opened the jar and discovered it smelled just as bad as it looked. No matter. I poured the contents over my chest.
It hit me with a cooling rush of energy that calmed my nerves and settled my gut.
Dang.
I felt better. More like myself. I rushed over to Dimitri and dropped a big, wet handful on his bare chest.
"What the hell?" He jerked away. Yeah, it was nasty, but it did the trick. He rolled off the bed and onto his feet. "What did you do?" His legs appeared a bit unsteady, but the rest of him was gaining strength fast. "I feel better."
"The potion puts the whammy on any sexy thoughts." I told him. The smell alone would do it.
The ghost watched us, shivering. "You can't escape him. Don't fight," she whispered. "Then it won't hurt so much."
Screw that. I felt sorry for her but I wasn't going to stand here and be attacked.
A dark cloud roiled up from the floor between my boots. Cripes. I hopped up onto the bed. It seeped through the floorboards and filled the room.
A low growl echoed against every corner of the room. "Fornicators!"
"Fuck!" I said, nearly jumping out of my skin as Dimitri took my arm.
"Let's go," he croaked, as I slid off the bed and we hurried toward the door.
I reached to my belt for Grandma's Sneak Spell. I broke the jar against the hardwood floors, sending up a plume of glittering blue and silver smoke that felt hot in my lungs and made me cough.
Dimitri cleared his throat and gripped me tighter. "I'm never making fun of your Grandma ever again."
I fought for a clean breath. "That makes two of us."
Limbs stiff, we lumbered out into the hallway.
"Careful," he said, as we reached at the top of the winding staircase. The carpeting was slick with mildew. A layer of dust and cobwebs now coated the bannisters. Lord help us if we pitched down the stairs.
It had
been so much fun to sneak up. Now, it could be an easy way for the phantom to snap our necks.
I had five switch stars, the weapons of a demon slayer. They were round like Chinese throwing stars, only much more deadly. They could slice and dice incubi, succubi, demons, imps, goblins, werewolves, and Frankenstein's monster, but they didn't work on ghosts. Damn. I really needed the biker witches.
Flames danced in the gas globes below. Taunting us.
My heart nearly beat out of my chest as we raced down to the foyer.
We made it.
Dimitri braced a hand against the wall, gathering his strength, while I pulled open the front door. A gust of frigid air blew in, ruffling his hair. "That actually felt good," he said.
"Oh, boy," I managed to choke out. At least if he was joking, he was feeling better.
Ghosts liked it cold, and it scared the bejesus out of me that the master of the house could control the weather in this...wherever we were. It was as if we'd entered the phantom's own particular brand of hell.
"Come on," Dimitri said, taking my hand as we escaped the house and ran for all we were worth.
I had one spell left—the one for passion. Fat lot of good that would do us. I had nothing for protection or defense.
We made it to the cemetery at the side of the house. A few hundred feet and we'd be—where? My breath caught in my throat. We were still in the wrong dimension, whatever that meant. Still, it's not like we could stop. We had to get as far as we could from the house.
The cemetery appeared to be as old as the estate itself. Narrow crypts thrust out of the ground, some tilted like they'd stood there for centuries. Smaller tombstones crowded the empty spaces in between, their crosses and weeping virgins reaching out to snag my legs and skirt.
Pirate dashed ahead of us, weaving in and out of stones. I followed his wriggling rump and stubby white tail until it disappeared into a rush of fog.
"Watch out!" I barely had time to get the words out before a wall of black smoke rose up from the earth itself. Pirate flipped over backward to avoid it.
Dimitri cursed.
Another wall rose up on the left, and on the right. I spun to see the final wall go up behind us.
We were surrounded.
Pirate retreated until he hit my boots.
We stood in front of a limestone crypt. A harsh stone cross dominated the roof. Carved angels wept at the corners and the worn bust of a stern, older man stood on a pedestal under the limestone eaves. A faded inscription at the front, black with lichen, read:
* * *
Hiram Everett Peele
1796 - 1857
Eva Fawn Peele
1812 – 1857
Forever bound
* * *
"That's him." I said.
What to do about it was another matter entirely. Grandma might have answers—if she weren't in another dimension. Partying.
Cripes.
Think.
We had to find a way to beat the ghost and then somehow, hopefully, return home.
But I couldn't switch star an incorporeal entity. I couldn't spell him. Even if Dimitri shifted into his griffin form, his teeth and claws would be useless.
"Uh, Lizzie?" Pirate leaned harder against my boots.
The black fog had begun to take form.
"Stay close" Dimitri murmured.
The three of us stood together as I reached into my belt for the protective crystals I always carried. I laid them out around us in a circle, willing them to hold back the evil that chilled the very ground where we stood.
Steely gray eyes glowered down at us.
"This isn't going to be enough," I said, placing the last of the crystals.
The phantom loomed over us—at least seven feet tall—larger then he possibly could have been in real life. He wore an old fashioned suit with a thick black necktie and a heavy silver cross. His gray teeth glowed with an unnatural light. "Anybody ever tell you? Sin leads to damnation." Fire flickered at the edges of the phantom and I could swear I smelled brimstone.
He drew himself up like a demented preacher. "For the whoremongers," he announced, "for them that defile themselves with mankind. Let not sin therefore reign in your mortal body. Cast out your lust!"
I took one step back, then another, causing Pirate to stumble and dash behind me. "We weren't sinning, we're married!"
The ghost spat on the ground. "No virtuous woman wantonly inspires lust in a man." He advanced on me. "You are a sinful whore."
I hurled a switch star at his head.
It flew straight through and didn't come back. My weapons usually acted as boomerangs. Had the ghost vaporized it? Maybe it had gotten caught on one of the tombstones.
It didn't matter. The switch star hadn't stopped Hiram Peele.
"What do you want?" I demanded.
He sneered at me like I was a wayward child. "Hold still, now. You're going to get a good hard beating for the Lord."
"Back off," Dimitri hollered at the ghost, trying to shove me behind him.
"It'll make you a better woman," the ghost said, swinging a meaty fist down.
A thousand sharp pricks of energy slammed into me like debris from a hurricane. Pain lanced through my cheek. It was only a small portion of his wrath. My pathetic crystal ward glowed, absorbing what it could of his energy. But my hastily drawn circle wouldn't last. Not against this.
I swallowed back my shock. I'd never been personally attacked by a supernatural entity—based on who I was. The ghost didn't care that I was a demon slayer. He'd gone after me because I was a woman.
Dimitri surged for the ghost, but it was as if he hit a wall of energy. Hiram tossed him onto the ground.
"Stay away from her!" Pirate hollered.
Hiram's wrath surrounded us, swirling. Howling.
Pirate emerged from his hiding place behind me and braved the edge of the circle, his ears flinging back, "Leave Lizzie alone! She didn't do anything! Eva, too. She's terrified!"
The winds whipped Hiram's beard and hair. His eyes glared daggers into the black smoke to our right. "Don't you leave, Eva Fawn. You had to go and make friends, don't you? Now you're going to see what you made me do."
The woman's head shimmered into view, weeping. Cuts and scars crisscrossed her face until she was unrecognizable. Harsh winds tore at her hair as she screamed. And with every scream, he grew.
Dimitri watched, calculating. "Her fear is giving him power."
It was the classic abuse scenario. I'd be willing to bet the sicko succumbed to temptation with his wife and then beat her for it.
She'd given him her power in life and he was using it to hold her here.
"Leave!" I yelled to her. It was obvious she was in pain. "He can't hurt you anymore." I hoped. I thought.
A cut above her puffy, swollen eye opened up and blood poured down over her face.
Pirate let out a high-pitched doggie whine.
Frick. I tried to see outside the circle, but the ghost's wrath surrounded us.
"We have to help her," my dog pleaded. "She's hurting!"
I didn't know how. "She's been trapped here for more than a century," I told him. "She doesn't have anything else."
I wished she did. I wanted to help. The blood poured down her neck, her chest. She shook as her arms and hands came into view.
"She has me," my dog insisted.
"It's not enough," I told him. Yes, she'd crouched by the fire all night. She'd laughed with Pirate. I'd heard her. But I didn't see how a connection like that—with an animal no less—could change this.
And then, my dog did the unthinkable. He dashed out of the circle, through the choking black smoke and into the arms of Eva Fawn Peele.
"No!" I screamed. Dimitri held me back or I would have snatched my dog out of the air.
As it stood, I'd never seen anyone—ghost or human—more shocked than Eva when she reached out and caught him.
"I'm here! I love you! I'll help you!" Pirate wriggled in her arms, licking at
her face, not caring that it was bloody and battered and awful.
The ground shifted. I stumbled, off balance, stunned as Hiram Peele hollered and lost the left side of his body.
"You got 'em!" Pirate said happily. "Look!" he said, snuggling tight in her arms.
No, she didn't have him. Eva had simply yanked part of his power supply. He turned to his wife in shock. Then his lip lifted into a cold sneer. "You will not—"
She kissed Pirate on the head, her eyes glazed with tears.
The phantom drew a sharp breath.
On the other side of our black hazed prison, bonfires appeared. Warmth flooded the air and I could see biker witches dancing, casting spells, and basically being their gorgeous, wonderful obnoxious selves.
We were back!
The ghost stared at his wife. It didn't appear he'd seen that side of Eva for at least a century and a half, if ever.
But it was a hollow victory. Yes, Eva had found something else to care about, the start of a loving relationship. But it didn't fix everything.
Hiram Everett Peele drew up to his full height, his face a mask of fury. Eva buried her face in Pirate's wiry fur.
"Drop that filthy animal." He stood over her. "Now."
Eva clutched at my dog, shaking.
Holy hell. Hiram was enjoying the fight. "Or have it your way," he snarled.
He shot out his hand and released a bolt of power straight into Pirate's neck. My dog yelped and fell to the ground.
"Pirate!" I screamed.
"No!" Eva cried.
His small body lay twisted on the grass. He wasn't moving.
Dimitri held me back. Barely. Oh my God. Pirate looked dead.
Hiram smirked as he sneered down on his wife. "Don't look at me that way, woman. This is your fault. You didn't obey."
Pain seared her eyes, mixed with fury. Rage. Her cuts faded away. Her bruises morphed to silky white skin. "No!" Her voice curdled as she drew out her hands like claws and launched a bolt of rage directly at her husband.
It hit him square in the chest and lit up the night. Needles of her energy pierced my skin as Hiram Peele, master of the house, staggered back, eyes wide with shock. He tried to speak, but no sound came as the light streamed from his mouth, nose and eyes.
