Captive (Demonic Games Book 3)

by Sara Clancy

  With the mug heating his hands and the aroma of coffee filling his head, Mihail could almost think of the whole event like it was a play. Something he had watched rather than participated in. The disconnection made it a little easier.

  “Blue, I think. A blue sweater. And he was covered in snow.” The image sharpened in his mind and he lifted his gaze back to Abe. “No, it was a white jacket. A blue sweater and a white jacket.”

  Abe tried to hide his reaction. Despite his efforts, Mihail caught the tension that made the skin around his eyes twitch.

  “Something you might wear?”

  “I hardly see how any of this matters,” Bunica Draciana interpreted.

  Abe raised his eyebrows. “Mihail?”

  “Well, I’d never wear a white jacket,” he mumbled with a light, awkward laugh. “But the sweater looked nice.”

  Falling silent, he tried to think of a way to reword his grandmother’s question. There had to be a way that would get Abe to answer. His fingers gripped the mug when the answer came to him on its own.

  “When you saw him, he was wearing a jacket with the bear buttons. Can ghosts change outfits?”

  “I don't see why not,” Bunica Draciana said.

  “I think he was asking me,” Abe grunted.

  She twisted in her seat and looked up at him. “And?”

  Abe growled, his mouth twisting up like the words were sour against his tongue. “It’s possible.”

  The tiny woman smirked.

  “But not likely. When ghosts change their appearance, it’s more to make themselves intimidating.”

  “Perhaps he wanted to look less intimidating. After all, he was visiting his grandson.” She reached across the table again and took Mihail's hand. “Has it occurred to you that this is perhaps his farewell? You found him. Maybe that was all he needed for his soul to rest in peace.” With a graceful tug, she lifted Mihail’s hand, squeezing his fingers as she placed a kiss to his knuckle. “Thank you, Mihail. You’ve given him a great gift.”

  “Yeah, I call bullshit,” Abe grumbled.

  Rage flickered across her face as she glared at the man beside her. “What would you know of it?”

  “I know he died with his mouth sewn shut. And I know that’s the sign of a binding spell. All the happy thoughts in the world wouldn't unlock a chain around ya neck.”

  “I have just found out I'm a widow,” she hissed. “Is it at all possible for you to summon some tact?”

  “I’m better with the dead,” Abe smiled broadly.

  “Wait,” Mihail cut in, finally organizing his swirling thoughts enough to understand what Abe was hinting at. “Are you saying that you don't think he was my Bunical? Oh, God. Do you think it was Frank?”

  It felt ridiculous to call a demon by such an unassuming name. But he assumed that was why Abe had chosen it. Able to change his form, Frank had looked incredibly different the two times Mihail had encountered him. The first time, it had been a huge spider-like creature. All fangs and fury as it tried to rip open the prison Abe had condemned it to. When it had been set free, its prison destroyed as the Russian nesting doll they had been trying to contain as well, it had looked like a monstrous, humanoid dragon.

  “This Frank, as you insist on calling him, isn't within the castle,” Bunica Draciana assured.

  “How do you know that?” Mihail asked.

  “The spirits within these walls may be dark, but they do not possess the power you have described Frank to have. Rabbits don’t stay silent when a fox is near their burrow.”

  “That ain’t exactly correct,” Abe said.

  She smiled sweetly as she squeezed Mihail’s arm. “If such a creature were here, we would know. It is a matter of fight or flight.”

  Mihail’s stomach turned into a gaping pit, drawing in every trace of warmth he possessed into it.

  “What about the other reactions to fear?” Abe challenged. “You know, freeze or friend?”

  Having Abe speak it made it real. Mihail snapped his gaze between the two people before him, searching their faces for an answer to a question he didn’t want to ask.

  “What happens if they choose ‘friend’?”

  “I do not know what you are talking about,” she said.

  “What happens if the ghosts choose to befriend Frank? What if they decided to help him do whatever it’s here for? What if they work together?”

  Abe's barrel chest puffed out as he drew in a deep breath. “Well, I’m gonna call my folks.”

  “I thought they had gone to Russia,” Mihail said. “Wasn’t there a poltergeist?”

  “Yeah, but they can still give us some advice.”

  “When confronted with an issue, your first response is to call your mommy and daddy.” Bunica Draciana lifted her cup to take a dainty sip. “I cannot describe how comforted I am to know that you're looking after our well-being.”

  “Mihail’s well-being,” Abe corrected.

  The comment turned her to stone. Mihail could just make out her frown around the edges of the cup. Slowly, she began to move again. But before she could decide on a response, Mihail released a long, desperate whine.

  “Can we please stop this? I get it, you don’t like each other, but there are more important things right now.”

  For one brief moment, they both looked chastised. The expressions and all the remorse they conveyed were gone almost as quickly as they had appeared. It was Abe who broke the tense silence. Forcing a smile, he crouched down beside the table, putting himself at the same height as Mihail and easily capturing his gaze.

  “Ya know what we could really use right now? A timeout. Just a few minutes to catch our breath and get some perspective. Let's go to town for a bit. We can do another food donation. That always puts ya in a good mood.”

  Mihail hadn’t noticed that he was choking up until he tried to speak and his voice crackled.

  “I can’t leave Bunica here alone. Not after everything that’s happened.”

  “She can come with us,” Abe held up both hands. “I promise I’ll try my best to hold my tongue. No promises.”

  Mihail laughed despite himself. “You realize that makes no sense, right?”

  “I’m aware.”

  Shaking his head, Mihail roughly wiped at the hot tears that began to roll down his cheeks. There was no way the others hadn’t noticed, but they didn’t comment.

  “Bunica can’t leave the castle. If she crosses the drawbridge, she dies, remember?”

  “Right.” He tried to hide the sharper edge that entered his words, “Why was that again?”

  “I was cursed by the Coven,” Bunica Draciana answered swiftly, her chin high and eyes cold. “It was my punishment for disobeying them.”

  “Because you’re the victim here?”

  Her jaw clenched. “There are many victims trapped within these walls.”

  “Did ya ever test it out? The leaving thing? They could have been lying.”

  It was becoming a struggle for her to keep her expression neutral.

  “Of course, I did. I barely survived.”

  “How far did ya get?”

  “That’s not something you should concern yourself with,” Bunica Draciana said.

  “Hey, I'm just trying to help. I’ve reversed a spell or two in my time. Although, I must admit, that one’s pretty rare.”

  “Is it?”

  “Strange, that one.”

  “I hardly think that your lack of experience makes anything strange."

  “How long has it been since ya tried? Maybe it wore off.”

  “It hasn’t.”

  “Ya seem pretty at ease for a prisoner.”

  Her smile didn't reach her eyes. “You can grow accustomed to anything.”

  They both gripped tightly to their polite tones and fake smiles. It was almost worse than the yelling. Letting out a heavy sigh, Mihail finished his coffee and devoured the last few pastries. Eating had seemed like a good idea and it had made his head feel a little more stable. B
ut now the food was hitting with his already uneasy stomach and threatening to make him ill.

  “What are we going to do about Bunical?” he asked in a whisper.

  Abe licked his lips. His voice was soft as he replied, “There’s nothing we can do right now.”

  Despite the care that had been taken, Mihail still found himself glaring at his friend. “Nothing?”

  Guilt pulsed across Abe’s face. Torn between it and a spike of anger, he lifted his hand to brandish his bandaged fingers.

  “I can’t touch it, remember? And even if I could, it would be impossible to get him out of there without him crumbling to dust.”

  “Maybe I could carry it.”

  “By yourself? Up all those stairs?” Abe’s eyebrows inched up his forehead.

  It was a ridiculous idea, he knew. It would be a struggle for him to even lift his grandfather's weight let alone the bull.

  “It doesn’t seem right to leave him down there,” Mihail mumbled. “Shouldn’t we at least call the police?”

  “Why?” Bunica said.

  “Because that’s what you do when there’s a dead body. Bunical didn’t put himself in there. He was murdered. That’s something that you’re supposed to tell the authorities.”

  “And what do you suggest we say?” she challenged. “I can’t imagine telling them that a Coven of witches murdered my husband would go very well.”

  “Not to mention all the other secrets you have scattered around this place.” Before she could snap at him, Abe continued, “The last thing we need is for someone to stumble across the wannabe demons we have in the catacombs by the woods. Tereza and the kids are keeping each other in check. That’s a delicate balance. No good will come from messing with it.”

  “Right,” Mihail sighed. He lowered his eyes to the table and clutched his mug. It had long since gone cold. “So, there's nothing we can do but sit here and wait for whatever comes next? I can’t accept that. How am I supposed to just go about my life knowing that he's down there? It’ll drive me insane.”

  “You can grow accustomed to anything,” Abe said.

  He and Bunica Draciana glared at one another, locked in some kind of battle Mihail was too emotionally exhausted to care about. It might be better to let them kill each other, a bitter voice whispered in the back of Mihail's head. Although, if they haunt this place, they'll be stuck together forever.

  “Come on,” Abe said abruptly. Suddenly all smiles, he put a hand on Mihail’s head and shook him slightly. “Let’s at least head out into the courtyard for a bit. I could use the break. All these ghosts screaming in my head are making me a little grizzly. Let’s get another coffee, or maybe something a little stronger, and watch the snow fall for a bit. Trust me, it’ll do you a world of good.”

  All Mihail wanted to do right now was sleep. Close his eyes for a few hours and pretend that the world would be better when he woke up. Regardless, he stood, grabbed his thickest coat, and followed Abe to the door.

  Chapter 5

  Passing through the doors of the castle was like emerging from the bottom of the ocean. The crushing pressure and glacial chill lifted; the change so vast that Mihail rocked back on his heels, suddenly dizzy. Abe had only opened one of the enormous doors of the entrance, so Mihail rested against the other while he caught his breath. Faces, each one twisted in different stages of fear and rage, were engraved into the heavy wood. They dug into his back, but he didn’t care enough to seek a more comfortable position.

  Snow wasn’t a new experience for Mihail. A light dusting of flakes had always been part of his winter holidays at his boarding school. None of it had prepared him for the constant blizzards of the mountain range. They came out of nowhere, with the strength to completely paint the world white for hours on end.

  As the winter progressed, the town’s upkeep of the roads dwindled. It was a losing battle. Now, they barely tended to the ones in the village center, and if it hadn’t been for Mihail making the proper ‘donations’, they would have abandoned the road to the castle entirely. The constant threat of losing his only tether to the outside world was a dagger in the back of his mind. Something that kept him up at night and brewed in his stomach during the day. He needed the road to be there. He needed to know that they could flee if things ever became utterly unbearable. That thought never failed to coax a bitter smile on his face.

  Utterly unbearable, he rolled the thought over in his head. It was such a strange concept. Every time he was sure he had reached his breaking point, he found that he could endure just a little bit more. Always just a little more.

  Tipping his head to the sky, he allowed the drifting snowflakes to land on his face. Each one brought a slight burn that he relished. His moment of peace was broken when Tereza’s scream rolled in from the forest beyond the castle walls. The witch’s spirit was still striving against the children that had been her victims. Months had passed since she and the children had started their battle. The stalemate kept them trapped. It didn’t dull the screaming, though. He detested the sound.

  Mihail clenched his teeth and shifted against the door, waiting for the noise to end. It made the nails that hammered haphazardly into the wood dig sharply into his back. Abe had done the damage when the ghosts had tried to lock him out. The medium's response had been to take a crowbar to it. He had gouged his way through the wood much to Bunica Draciana resentment. She had demanded that he fix the damage. If it was possible to make mending a door the equivalent of flipping the middle finger, Abe's patch job was it. He had layered slabs of cheap wood randomly over the damage and bent the nails into odd angles rather than drive them all the way in.

  Twisting around, Mihail placed a gloved hand against the wood. It was ugly and brittle, and his only physical proof that they could affect the castle as a whole. They weren't doomed only to reaction. They could take control. He carefully schooled his features before his grandmother noticed his smile.

  “Have you tracked down a professional capable of repairing this yet?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” Mihail stammered. “The people in town are pretty superstitious. They don’t like coming to the castle.”

  “Small town minds,” she dismissed.

  Mihail forced a smile and bit down on mentioning that they had a point. No one should be here. At his silence, she passed him and headed out into the thick snow that covered the courtyard, completely protected from the cold by her coat. Mihail waited for her to go before he turned his attention back to the patch job.

  Abe barreled into his line of sight, slamming into the door before he ducked. An instant later, three snowballs splattered against the door. Large clumps of ice sprayed across Mihail’s face.

  “What on earth?”

  His startled cry only made Abe laugh.

  “One of these days, you’re gonna settle for just normal swearing,” he said, shaking some snow from his shabby rust-colored beard. He yelled out a few words of Russian. A snowball to his shoulder was the response.

  Dusting the splatter off of his coat, Mihail searched the courtyard. He barely caught sight of Bunica Draciana before she disappeared up a staircase, heading towards her favorite path along the top of the battlements. The rest of the space was empty. Still, he didn’t doubt who was responsible. The ghost of the little Russian boy remained a mystery to Mihail. Sometimes, he was sure that Abe was deliberately keeping it that way. In the battle of wills between Bunica Draciana and the medium, the ghostly child was the only one to have publically picked a side.

  He had helped Abe secure a haunted mirror against Bunica Draciana’s wishes. Logically, Mihail understood why his grandmother had wanted to keep possession of the mirror. She felt responsible for Sarina, a woman who lived and died in the castle, who had performed horrible acts while keeping Draciana captive. They had once been friends, inseparable since childhood, and her inability to prevent Sarina's decline into madness still weighed heavily on Draciana’s shoulders. But Mihail was glad it was gone.

  Both Sarina an
d Tereza had been in the same Coven. Both might have played a part in his grandfather’s death, and both had actively tried to murder Abe and himself. As far as he was concerned, there wasn’t a place on this earth that would be far enough to send them to. So the Claymont family’s new paranormal vault would have to do.

  A loud cry of ‘duck’ and a hand shoving him down broke Mihail from his thoughts. Clumps of ice pelted the back of his neck as a snowball collided with where his head had been.

  “Ya can’t get all philosophical on a battlefield,” Abe chastised.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Ya always are,” Abe hurled a clump of well-packed ice across the space. It hit nothing and eventually fell to the earth. Snapping out a few words in Russian, Abe crouched down, muttering all the while. “Bloody cheater. Going incorporeal during a snow fight.”

  “I can’t believe that you’re doing this right now,” Mihail said.

  He hadn’t meant for his friend to hear and regretted the words the moment Abe looked up at him.

  “What do ya mean?”

  “Well, just that,” he heaved a sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. “We found a dead body.”

  “Yeah, that ain’t exactly a new experience for me,” Abe replied. “Anyway, the kid wanted to play. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Say no. I'm sure he can understand that it’s an inappropriate time.”

  Abe stared at him for a long moment, as if truly confused. “He’s dead.”

  “I get that.”

  “I don't think ya do.” Abe gracefully drew himself to full height. “You’ve dealt with the aftershocks of death for, what, six months now? How are ya holding up? That kid's been in the thick of it, alone, for decades. And unlike us, he can’t leave.”

  “Right.”

  “You’ve seen how hard I’ve been working to get him to trust me,” Abe cut in. “The fact that he wants to play a game with me is huge. I ain’t leaving him hangin’.”

  Guilt mixed with all of the other sore feelings in the pit of Mihail’s stomach, and he lowered his gaze.

  Abe’s voice softened as he continued, “Don’t think I don’t care about what ya going through, Mihail. I do.”