Nesting (Demonic Games Book 1)

by Sara Clancy

  “Maybe because it’s mortifying.”

  Abe snorted. “Sometimes ya brain can’t handle what’s thrown at it, so it shuts down to protect itself. It’s as natural as fainting at the sight of blood.”

  “And just as mortifying,” Mihail said under his breath. Abe still heard him.

  He slipped the tip of his tongue against one of his sharp teeth and sucked. “Guess that’s why people forget to mention it.”

  Mihail was happy to let the conversation drop, prepared to wallow in his own uselessness. Needing a distraction, he decided to take his first decent look at Abe. Brutal. That was the only word he could think of to describe him. There didn’t seem to be a single thing about him that didn’t look battle-hardened and feral. Somehow, he was even bigger than Mihail had first imagined. Abe’s wide frame was almost twice as thick as Mihail’s and covered with dense strands of muscle. His hair was the color of rust, fine over his scalp and wiry as it covered his jaw with a thick beard. Even his features were sharp.

  But perhaps the most noticeable thing about him was his tattoos. Just about every inch of his skin was tattooed with dense interweaving tendrils that formed a single Celtic knot. From what he could see, the only place Abe neglected to cover was his face. The detail was amazing. But, as Mihail looked more closely, he noticed disruptions in the ebony ink. Scars littered his skin, but it was impossible to tell how many there were without touching.

  Once again, a sharp spike of pain dragged Mihail back into the moment. It scared him how easy it was for him to tune out. Get it together, he told himself. Bunica needs you. Clearing his throat to get Abe’s attention, he asked a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to.

  “What’s in your shed?”

  “A bit of everything.”

  Mihail felt a twinge of annoyance. “What attacked me?”

  “I named ‘em Frank,” Abe said with a smirk. “Easiest explanation; he’s a demon.”

  The ground seemed to break apart under Mihail as he stared at the side of Abe’s head.

  “A demon? Demons are real?”

  The question made Abe look up. His icy blue eyes studied his face carefully before narrowing. “Ya new to this, aren’t ya?”

  “To what, exactly?”

  “Paranormal stuff.”

  “Oh,” Mihail tried to shrug only to remember that Abe had a firm grip on his hand. “I guess so. I saw my first ghost yesterday.”

  Abe shook his head. “Ya way too young to be hearin’ about demons, baby boy.”

  “What if it gets out?” Mihail asked anyway.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Because you put that latch on? That wouldn’t even be suitable to keep a kid’s diary secure.”

  His sharp tone drew Abe’s attention in full. After a moment of tension that made Mihail worry that he had crossed a line, Abe chuckled. “Those locks are engraved with ancient containment spells.”

  “Spells?”

  The word made Mihail’s brain slosh around the inside of his skull. Does that mean witchcraft is real, too? Demons, ghosts, magic. This can’t be real. Mihail released a long groan and dropped his head into his free hand.

  “Easy there, baby boy,” Abe said as he went back to probing Mihail’s palm. “Just keep taking deep breaths.”

  “Your neck,” Mihail asked, searching for a distraction.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it.” He shrugged one shoulder as if to draw attention to the patches of gauze that were taped over his skin.

  How long was I out of it? Mihail pushed the thought aside.

  “Are ya always that squeamish?” Abe asked.

  “It’s not something I’m proud of,” Mihail replied.

  “Fair enough. Are ya ready to talk about what brought you here?”

  Mihail opened his mouth but the words were hard to voice. After everything, it still seemed like saying it aloud would make it real. So instead, he licked his lips and grappled for something that could put it off for a few moments longer. It came in the form of a jab in his hand. A sharp cry ripped from his throat, but Abe ignored it. Once more, he refused to let go of Mihail’s hand, but this time he pushed the issue.

  “Stop,” Abe said at last.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Cleaning up your cut.”

  “I already did that,” Mihail insisted and tried to pull back again.

  Abe held onto him effortlessly. “Stop.”

  “How is cutting me taking care of anything?”

  Abe cut him again, a small little nick that made liquid well in his palm. With this new release, a rancid smell filled the air. The moment it hit Mihail’s nose, he recognized it as the breath of the blue woman. Fear pulsed through him. His attempts to break free turned wild as he glanced around, searching her out.

  “What is that?”

  “That’s the smell of rottin’ flesh. Ya cut is infected. I’m trying to drain it.”

  Mihail paused. “Drain it? What does that even mean?”

  “It’s pretty self-explanatory.”

  “Wait a minute.” Mihail whimpered at the next strike. “Hey?!”

  Abe sighed and looked over to him. “I’m a trained paramedic with qualifications recognized in seven countries. I know what I’m doin’. Relax.” Just before he set to his task again, he paused and flicked a quick glance towards Mihail again. “This is going to hurt.”

  Mihail’s eyes widened. “What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Hey, what’s the purple flower over there?”

  Mihail followed Abe’s line of sight to a small bunch of flowers sitting atop a single stem. “That’s a clustered bellflower.”

  The moment he started to speak, the tip of the scalpel drove into his flesh. Mihail screamed. But, unlike before, it wasn’t just a poke. Mihail felt the razor slide a long path across the length of his palm. Fire exploded under his skin. Every time he tried to pull away, Abe held him tight, continuing on with a near surgical ease.

  “Stop!” Mihail wailed.

  “I’ve almost got it,” Abe assured. “What else do you know about the flowers?”

  “Abe!” Hot tears burned the edges of his eyes as the blade dug deeper. Blood rushed from the wound, bringing with it the disgusting scent that made his stomach roll.

  “There’s something in here. I need to get it out.”

  “I don’t care!”

  “If we don’t get it now, you can lose the hand,” Abe said. “Just think about the flowers. Bellflower, huh?”

  Mihail clenched his teeth as he struggled to understand what to do next. Kick him in the head! Get him off! Make him stop! The thoughts screamed inside his skull even as his brain whispered that he needed to endure. You saw what he can do. He fought a demon without blinking an eye. You need him, so keep your mouth shut!

  Biting the inside of his lip, he breathed rapidly through his nose before groaning, “Latin name campanula glomerata.”

  “Ya know the Latin name? You’re really into flowers.”

  He knew that the words were intended to soothe him. To give him something to hold onto, a distraction from what was happening. But for all his good intentions, Abe was deluded. Nothing could have dulled Mihail’s mind to the sheer agony pulsing through his hand. Every heartbeat forced it higher up his arm like burning acid. He could feel it playing along the nerves of his neck and crackling down his spine. Mihail broke, casting aside all attempts at dignity in favor of begging him to stop. Abe dropped the scalpel and pressed his thumbs into the wound.

  Mihail was presented with the undeniable knowledge of just how weak he was. He kicked, he battered the back of Abe’s head with his free fist, and all of it was for nothing. He was helpless and Abe wasn’t about to stop. The huge man assured him once more that it was almost done, but Mihail was beyond the point of caring. His hand was drenched with blood and pus, the liquids slipping down along his forearm to seep into the edges of his sweater. His head was spinning. The pain left him blind. His throat was
raw and broken by his screams.

  “Just cut it off!” Mihail both pleaded and demanded.

  “I’ve almost got it,” Abe said.

  “I don’t care! Just cut my hand off! Make it stop.”

  He couldn’t see what the bigger man was doing, but he felt it. Felt something moving under his skin, drawing up to the surface, ripping the tender skin all the more as it was torn from his flesh. There was a fresh gush of liquid, a slurping noise, and it was free.

  Abe stopped pressing and poking. The relief made Mihail sag. His head dropped against Abe’s shoulder as the pain began to ebb away. Without it, his body felt hollow, empty. He felt every breath, every heartbeat, as if his chest was an empty drum. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes as Abe cleaned his wound.

  Cool water drizzled over his hand and he realized that Abe must have been a lot more prepared than he had given him credit for. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about that now. All that mattered was that Abe had stopped. It was over. Once it was washed clean, Abe dried his hand and checked the palm again. His touch was surprisingly gentle as he began to slowly wrap the long, wide bandage around the palm. Mihail struggled to keep his eyes open as the will to fight left him.

  “Okay, baby boy,” Abe said, the words teasing but his tone serious. “Close ya fingers for me.”

  Mihail didn’t lift his head as he gave a questioning grunt.

  “Make a fist,” Abe clarified.

  His thumb and middle finger twitched as he complied, tightening his hand over the bandage. He decided that he must have still been high on adrenaline, because the movement was surprisingly easy and pain free.

  “That’s good. Tap ya thumb to ya middle finger.”

  Mihail did. “Why am I doing this?”

  “I’m just checking that there wasn’t any extensive damage,” Abe said, the words making anger flare inside Mihail. That quickly shifted into fear as the mammoth man continued. “And that I got it all.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Ya infections wasn’t about germs.”

  “How would that even be possible?”

  “Because you didn’t cut yourself with a kitchen knife,” Abe said. “Whatever did the damage was cursed. Mixing blood and curses ain’t the best idea.”

  The nesting doll, Mihail thought. It all got worse once the doll was opened. Abe walked him through a few more things before pushing Mihail’s sleeve up to check his forearm. Feeling the soaked material drag over his skin was almost enough to make him throw up. Abe’s fingers trailed from his inner elbow down to his wrist, tracing and retracing the path, his skin cutting trails of warmth along his forearm. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t find it, and he tugged Mihail’s sweater back down.

  “Ya did good,” he said as he searched for the items he had dropped.

  “Huh, you’re a good liar. I almost believed you.”

  Mihail’s fragile smile faded when he saw Abe shift his shoulders. It was a simple movement. Something small he might not have noticed had anyone else done it. With Abe, the change was everything. Like the moment a lion changed from simply lounging about to actively hunting. Mihail followed the line of his attention.

  Nipped between his thumb and index finger, the looped band looked tiny and fragile. The ring was covered in his blood, both fresh red and a rotten, decayed black. Abe wasn’t bothered by either as he wiped over his thumb to clean the surface and get a better look at what was beneath.

  The air left Mihail’s lungs in a sharp gush, as if he had been punched in his gut. This can’t be real, his mind whispered. That can’t be here. But in sheer defiance of everything he was trying to convince himself, Abe continued to hold an emerald ring. The same one that had been in the swamp. The one that Bunica Draciana had taken and had reappeared when he had been attacked by the front door.

  “That was in my hand?” Mihail asked, his voice raw from his screams.

  He wanted to scream again as Abe nodded solemnly. The streaks of his drying blood weren’t enough to keep the surface from sparkling as Abe held it higher.

  “That couldn’t have been in my hand!”

  “You’ll be surprised how often things that ‘can’t’ happen end up happenin’,” Abe muttered before the tip of his tongue pressed against the sharpened tips of his fangs.

  “Even by your standards, it can’t happen,” Mihail told him. “You said that it was connected to the thing I cut myself on.”

  “Those weren’t my exact words,” Abe cut in.

  “I cut myself on a Russian nesting doll.”

  Abe finally tore his gaze away from the ring and refocused on Mihail. “A what?”

  “A Russian nesting doll. The ones where you fit smaller dolls inside bigger ones,” he explained in a rush, quickly approaching the tipping point of panic as he gestured wildly to the ring. “What would a doll have to do with this? That couldn’t have been inside me.”

  Abe responded to his fear in the same way he had his pain; with polite disinterest and a steely look. “Have ya seen this before?”

  Mihail swallowed thickly. “Yes. My grandmother’s house is haunted, that’s why I’m here. I haven’t got proof but–”

  “Do I strike ya as a guy unwillin’ to work on a little faith?” Abe reassured.

  Nodding without knowing why, Mihail took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone. “I found that ring yesterday and gave it to my grandma. The ghosts gave it back last night, but I left it behind before I even found the doll.”

  With a flick of his fingers, Abe balanced the ring between his two middle fingers. He stared at it for a moment before he curled his wrist. Mihail watched the entire motion but couldn’t pinpoint exactly when the ring had vanished.

  “I’m gonna need ya to start from the beginning.”

  Chapter 9

  Abe hadn’t given him the ring back. Once Mihail felt stable enough to stand up without embarrassing himself, Abe had led him into the farmhouse and made him a cup of ginger tea to settle his stomach. Holding it with both hands, he felt the warmth pressing against his palms. Given the agony he had been in moments ago, the heat radiating into the bound wound was little more than a mild sting. Almost comforting. His hands shook violently each time he tried to take a sip. Abe had anticipated this, and only filled the mug halfway. It made Mihail wonder how many times something like this had happened to the huge man.

  “Why are you keeping that thing?” Mihail said.

  “Ya mean Frank?” Abe asked as he continued to fix his own cup of tea.

  “Yes, Frank.”

  “Seems better to have him contained rather than lurking about.”

  Mihail bristled at the near dismissive humor Abe put into the words. He shifted to glare at the man, fully intending to say something scathing, but got distracted. Abe had twisted to put something in the sink, the motion presenting his back to Mihail. Abe’s collection of tattoos weren’t confined to his arms and chest. The interweaving threads covered the expansive canvas, seeming to move at every play of muscle, falling down his back before disappearing beyond the boundary of his jeans. Abe turned abruptly and the words Mihail had forgotten tumbled out of his mouth, although with none of the heat he had intended. “I would hardly call it contained when the door is open.”

  “That’s Vlad’s fault.”

  “Who is Vlad?” Mihail said with a growing edge of panic.

  Abe gave a slightly amused grunt as he dumped his own mug on the table. It didn’t seem possible that the rickety kitchen chairs could possibly handle Abe’s considerable weight. Still, he flipped one of them around so its back was against the side of the table and straddled it. It groaned but held firm.

  “My parents set up a museum to promote awareness of the paranormal. And, no, the shed’s not it. That’s more like high security. Anyway, no matter how good intentions might be, there’s always a dumbass that ruins it. Vlad is one said dumbass.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He showed up a week
ago intent on ridiculin’ the believers. I kicked him out, but he had already challenged Frank.”

  “And that’s bad?”

  “Ya challenge a demon, the demon can latch onto ya.” He took a casual sip of his tea before continuing. “Vlad didn’t make it off the mountain. He was drivin’ along a well-maintained straight strip of road, inexplicably lost control, and smashed into the only tree for miles.”

  “Frank killed him?”

  “Don’t piss off demons if ya ain’t ready to step up to the challenge,” Abe said before taking another mouthful from his mug.

  “I’m sorry, how does this equate to the door?”

  “Vlad refuses to believe that he’s dead. So every day he shows up, opens the damn door, and taunts Frank again. I was talking with him when ya rolled up. Since Frank can’t leave until there’s a living body for him to attach to, I didn’t think it would be a problem to leave the door open for a bit.”

  “How would that not be a problem?”

  “I live miles from my nearest neighbors, and anyone with even the slightest amount of manners knows that an open door isn’t an invitation.”

  He spoke mostly into his mug but Mihail heard him clearly anyway.

  “I apologize for intruding,” Mihail said with a little blush.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Even with the mug in the way, the smile was clear in his tone. “Ya welcome here any time, baby boy.”

  Mihail nodded, finally feeling stable enough to take a sip. The hot liquid hit his tongue when something occurred to him. “I’m sorry, did you just say you’re psychic?”

  “No.”

  “You said you were talking to a dead person.”

  “I’m a physical medium. Psychic’s somethin’ different. Ya hands are still shaking, drink ya tea.”

  Mihail took another sip and relished the way warmth bloomed within him. It made him comfortable enough to look around the home for the first time and he couldn’t help but be slightly awed. He had never set foot in a place so homey. Everything was worn-in and comfortable. The furniture was stained with coffee and dirt. Books, dirty cups, and odd items were left haphazardly around the place. And every wall was filled with family photographs. It was strange to be able to see Abe, this colossal goliath of a man, as an infant getting his first bath. Odder still, it didn’t make him any less imposing.