Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “The temperature drops by a good twenty degrees between the door and here,” he said, circling the icy column. “It’s just right here, just about five feet around.”

  “It’s the old man,” Emma said. She sounded distracted and half asleep.

  Professor Montcalm, who was with them for the investigation, held out the ghost box. “If anyone is here, you can use this device to speak to us.” The little machine squealed. “Can you tell me your name?”

  At first there was nothing but white noise, but then a female voice came through. “Penelope.”

  Emma grinned. “There you are! Where have you been hiding?” She glanced at Sean, who was again manning his camera, then at Quinn. “Penelope is one of my guides.”

  “Can’t stay.” The box rasped with static. “Don’t go.”

  “Don’t go where?” Quinn asked.

  A man answered. “Upstairs.”

  “That’s Craig,” Emma announced.

  “Another guide?” Tyler asked.

  She nodded. “Yes. My strongest.”

  “Sorry,” Craig’s voice said.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” Emma told him.

  Professor Montcalm asked, “Why are you sorry?”

  It took a minute, but finally Craig replied. “Failed.”

  “No, you didn’t.” The psychic smiled. “It’s okay.”

  The voices fell silent, leaving them with only static. After several long moments, the professor turned the ghost box off.

  Emma walked slowly into the kitchen. The cold spot followed her, chilling the air where it went. Tyler followed, too, a hand-held voice recorder at the ready, and Sean went along to film. Quinn looked at the priest.

  “Do we have to take her back to the same room?”

  “No,” Leon said. “This can be done down here. We just need to get her into a sturdy chair.”

  “We’ll have to restrain her,” Quinn said. “We have zip ties that we used for bundling the cords.”

  “That’ll do.”

  Emma called from the kitchen, “I know what you’re planning to do.”

  Father Leone nodded and whispered, “She probably does.”

  The priest closed his eyes, and Quinn put a hand on his shoulder, concerned. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes.” Leone held up a hand. “Wait.”

  Emma led her miniature entourage back out of the kitchen. She walked up to the priest and grinned. “Three, of course.”

  Quinn frowned. “What?”

  Professor Montcalm drifted over to the dining room table with Brent, and Steve put his camera aside to go with them. Sean kept filming.

  Father Leone nodded. “I see.”

  “What do you see?”

  She looked at the young man. “He was asking how many entities were in the house.”

  “Not in the house,” Father Leone corrected. “In you.”

  “Body. House. What’s the difference?” She grinned. “It’s all the same. It’s the empty place where you go to live.”

  Quinn nodded to his team. “Now!”

  Moving rapidly, Montcalm and Brent brought over one of the dining room chairs. Tyler grabbed Emma and shoved her down into the seat, and Quinn and Steve zip tied her ankles to the chair legs. Emma snarled as Brent secured her hands behind the chair back with more zip ties.

  “Let go of me, you sons of bitches!” she cursed, squirming as she tried to kick at them.

  Father Leone stood in front of her, and Sean stood off to the side where he could film everyone’s faces. Emma spat at the priest, then turned angry eyes to Quinn.

  “I fucking own you,” she growled in a voice nothing like her own. “Let me go.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not today, Satan.”

  She threw her head back and roared with laughter. Father Leone opened his case and pulled out a small vial of holy water.

  “Thanks for the promotion, kid,” Emma scoffed to Quinn. “You’re a little off base.”

  “Not by much.”

  Father Leone turned and splashed a line of blessed water across Emma’s face. She howled in pain and rage and repeated the motion. Each splash was greeted with screams, and Quinn moved to stand behind her. She writhed and contorted violently, trying to avoid the asperging, and the chair bounced backward, getting more air with every jolt. Quinn and Tyler grabbed her and held her and the chair in place.

  The priest began his prayers, speaking ritual words that Quinn had heard before and had hoped to never hear again outside of a movie theater. He found himself automatically giving the appropriate responses he had learned in Boston. The Rituale Romanum had been seared into his consciousness.

  “Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde...”

  Emma’s screams drowned out the rest.

  THE HOUSE WAS QUIET when day finally broke. Montcalm and Brent had joined Rick in his car, the professor to place a telephone call and Brent for the sheer escape. Sean stood and filmed everything, every chant, every prayer, every curse. Tyler and Quinn had been the physical arm of the effort, keeping Emma in her chair. At one point, they’d even had to fight to keep the chair on the ground. Apparently, the demons who were afflicting her could levitate.

  The column of cold air moved around the room as the ghost of the old man paced, and the voices of Emma’s spirit guides periodically came through the static on the ghost box, encouraging her to be strong. By dawn, they had long gone silent.

  Father Leone took a break in the battle to drink some water and swab the sweat from his face. With Sean still filming, albeit from a tripod, Quinn and Tyler sat in other chairs they’d dragged from the dining room.

  Emma’s face was puffy, covered with what looked like scratches. Everywhere the holy water had struck her, an opening had appeared in her skin. In Quinn’s eyes, she was still beautiful for all of that.

  She was sitting in her chair, her head drooping and her eyes closed. She couldn’t have been comfortable in that position, but Quinn knew better than to release her from the zip ties before Father Leone gave the all-clear. Tyler looked like he was ready to fall asleep, and Quinn wished that he could do the same.

  “Do you want to hear from Daddy?”

  Quinn looked up to see Emma staring at him, her eyes completely black. He looked away.

  “What’s the matter, sweet cheeks?” she mocked. “Don’t want to hear about it? ‘Shots fired at Book and Main.’ But it was really only one shot, wasn’t it? Just Daddy, blowing his brains out in his patrol car.”

  Tyler spoke up. “Leave him alone.”

  The demon inside Emma laughed. “Aw, that’s really cute. You’re so protective of your friends. You’d do anything for Quinn, wouldn’t you?”

  “Don’t talk to it,” Quinn warned.

  “Why not? You’re going to hurt my feelings, and after everything we’ve been together, the three of us.” She leered at Tyler. “How did it feel, rubbing your cock against Quinn’s? I’ll bet you’ve wanted to do that for a long time. Finally got to frot, didn’t you?”

  He took his glasses off and looked away. “Shut up.”

  Quinn realized that this conversation was being filmed. He very much hoped that none of it would ever see the light of day.

  Emma continued harassing Tyler. “That probably wasn’t how you wanted to lose your virginity, though, was it? You wanted to save yourself for marriage.” She laughed. “You’re such a nerd.”

  “Better a nerd than a demon,” Father Leone said, coming back into the room. “Tyler, you can leave.”

  “No!” the demon objected. “I want him to stay. He’s got a better cock than Quinn, and fewer daddy issues.” She grinned. “Shot fired, Book and Main. It has a ring to it. Maybe you can write it into a rap song.”

  He was exhausted, and his fatigue made him foolish. “My dad did not commit suicide.”

  “Are you so sure?”

  Above them, in the bedroom where the murders had taken place, they could hear bed springs squeaking. Emma cackled. “Sound
familiar, boys?”

  The priest picked up his holy water and his Bible once again. The squeaking stopped in the room upstairs, replaced by slow and heavy footsteps.

  “Uh oh,” the demon said, grinning. “Somebody’s coming.”

  The steps were moving down the hall, deliberate and dragging. Quinn remembered Emma talking about bloody footprints during her walk-through, and he wondered if they were hearing a residual haunting in action or something infinitely worse.

  Father Leone resumed his prayers. Quinn gave the responses as before, but he was watching the staircase. The footsteps had nearly reached the top of the stairs, and he was almost afraid to see what would be coming down to join them.

  Prayers. Responses. Holy water splattering. Emma scrying out.

  A heavy footstep on the stairs.

  Tyler was watching now, too, and Sean picked up the camera so that he could have the exorcism and the stairs in the frame. Quinn stood up, rigid with anxiety, his mind full of memories of the situations like this that he had been in before.

  Another heavy footstep.

  He remembered. He remembered Father O’Grady and exorcisms in the rectory basement. The prayers, the psalms, the sickly-sweet smell of incense, and the wretched, oily feeling of evil as it was displaced. He remembered darkness, and the one thing that finally let the light shine through.

  Quinn grabbed Emma’s chin and made her look at him. “Tell me your name.”

  The stairs creaked. A blue glow appeared on the landing.

  “Tell me your name!”

  Emma laughed at him and flicked her tongue like a snake. Father Leone continued to pray, and the holy water splashed her once again. She wailed.

  A voice came over the ghost box. It was a woman’s, different than the one who had spoken before. “Emma, tell him.”

  Quinn steeled himself and looked into the psychic’s eyes. “I hate psychics because you know too many secrets. Now I need you to tell me one. The demon inside you has a name. What is it?”

  A man’s voice echoed through the ghost box. “What is it?”

  The all-encompassing blackness of her eyes faded, and it was finally Emma who was looking back. She was exhausted and frightened, and she began to weep. “Quinn! Help me!”

  “I’m trying to,” he told her. “What is its name?”

  An apparition of a man appeared on the stairs, his head shattered. He was wearing a Roman collar. Emma closed her eyes.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she sobbed. “Oh, God.”

  Tyler moved to stand between Emma and the ghost on the stairs, protecting her. The spirit, Father Brennan, came closer. His steps were slow and agonizing, thudding with the dead weight of a ruined body.

  “Catherine,” the ghost said. “Release her.”

  The black color filled Emma’s eyes again, and she snarled something in a tongue Quinn didn’t understand.

  “Release her!”

  “Catherine is the name of the victim,” Quinn said. “Not the demon. Emma, please. Tell me the demon’s name. I know you know it.”

  Father Leone fell quiet, waiting and watching. The ghost of Father Brennan stood motionless on the stairs. Emma sobbed and Quinn stroked her hair.

  “It’s going to be okay, baby. You just have to tell me the name.”

  “Let me go,” she begged. “Please, let me go.”

  Quinn looked into Tyler’s eyes, then back at Emma. “Not until you give me the name.”

  The ghost spoke, and though his voice was barely more than a whisper, it carried through the room. “His name. I command you.”

  Emma spasmed, her entire body shaking, and she lowered her head so the crown was pressed to Quinn’s chest. She whispered a word.

  The room filled with the sound of shrieking. A wild wind tore through the room, and it ripped the apparition of the dead priest into wisps. Every glass and every windowpane shattered, spraying debris everywhere. Emma screamed, and Quinn was knocked head over heels by something invisible and very strong. It roared through Tyler and sent him crashing to the floor, and Father Leone bellowed the ending of the exorcism prayers into the maelstrom.

  As suddenly as the chaos had begun, it fell silent. Emma gasped for breath, sagging against Quinn, and he held her tightly as Tyler cut the zip ties and set her free. She put her arms around them, one around Quinn’s neck and one around Tyler’s, and she wept. They held her that way for a long, long time.

  Epilogue

  Miller College paid for repairs to the house, and the team returned to Boston. The footage and evidence were sent to Dr. Begay, who promised he would give them a good home. Sean and Steve worked together to provide the network with an edited version of the events of that autumn night, and everything went quiet.

  Emma dropped out of Professor Montcalm’s class, replacing it with a different elective. Quinn and Tyler pretended nothing untoward had ever happened, and denial was once again a way of life in the apartment they shared with Brent.

  On the last Wednesday before the school closed for Thanksgiving, the Ghost U team assembled in Professor Montcalm’s office. Avila Singh was waiting for them there, smiling and friendly. When everyone was assembled, the professor closed the door and Avila called the meeting to order.

  “The network is very thrilled with your project,” she began. “The test investigation was well received, and they want to give you the go-ahead for a full season. That will include the usual paycheck.”

  Brent chuckled and pumped his fist. “Yeah, buddy! Ka-ching!”

  Emma looked down at the table, running her finger over a scuff mark. Quinn watched her carefully, surprised by just how happy he was to see her. “So will I be doing solo walk-throughs like this one, or investigating with the guys, or both?”’

  Avila smiled. “We’re going to leave that to your discretion, but I think that the solo walk-through is interesting.”

  “We’ll keep it, then,” Quinn said.

  Emma glanced up at him. “You don’t mind having a psychic on your team?”

  “As long as it’s you, no. I don’t.”

  She took his hand and squeezed it, then turned to Brent and Tyler. “What about you?”

  “Totally cool,” Brent said.

  Tyler smiled. “You know my answer.”

  Emma nodded, and she smiled, too. “I don’t know if you know this or not, but I dropped out of school. It’s just not for me.”

  Tyler fretted, “But I thought you had to be a student to be part of the parapsychology club.” He looked at Avila. “That’s the college entity that supports Ghost U.”

  “I know,” she confirmed, “but Emma will be a consultant.”

  Quinn chuckled. “A consultant. Okay, yeah, I can see that.”

  Avila looked pointedly at the three young men, and Professor Montcalm remained silent and inscrutable. “She’s going to need someplace to live.”

  There was a pregnant moment where everyone seemed to be holding their breath. Finally Brent said, “Our apartment only has three rooms, but I can sleep on the sofa bed until we find someplace bigger. I already sleep there most of the time anyway.”

  Emma smiled at him. “That’s very generous, but...”

  “But there’s no need,” Quinn finished for her. “We can double up or something.”

  “Triple,” Tyler said softly. “We can triple up.”

  Emma looked from one of them to the other. “Seriously?”

  Quinn and Tyler exchanged a long glance, one that hinted of the many late-night conversations they’d had since that Iowa trip. Quinn spoke for them both. “Seriously.”

  “Wow.” She looked at Brent, who shrugged and smiled. She chuckled. “Okay, then.”

  Professor Montcalm finally spoke up. “So, Quinn... does this mean that you’ve changed your mind about psychics?”

  He grinned and admitted, “About this psychic, yes.”

  “I’m honored.”

  “You should be.”

  “Maybe the name of the show should be changed,” Brent b
lurted.

  They all looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Changed to what?” Quinn asked.

  “From Ghost U to Ghost Us.” He shrugged. “Just an idea. Since we’re all going to be roommates, I mean.”

  “Maybe roommates, maybe more,” Emma said. “Maybe all of us.”

  The look Brent gave her was priceless.

  Professor Montcalm stood. “Whatever you choose to do...”

  “No more restrictions?” Quinn asked.

  The professor laughed and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Look at all the good it did before.”

  Quinn looked at his roommates and considered the things the future had in store.

  “I don’t know,” he said, smiling. “I think a lot of good came out of it.”

  The End

  About the Author

  TIEGAN CLYNE HAS BEEN writing for longer than most of her friends have been alive. Armed with university degrees in Spanish, anthropology and history, she writes reverse harem and LGBTQ fantasies with dark, kinky edges and fantastical elements. She also sometimes writes harmless fluff pieces about magical animals and the witches who love them. She loves music, could not stop writing if you paid her, and is a crazy cat lady in training.

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  Tiegan Clyne writing as J. A. Cummings

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  THE DEVIL’S WEBB

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  About The Devil's Webb

  As a wealthy @sshole and heartless playboy, Ty Falco liked to play games. More than that, he didn't like to lose. Ever. So when I up and resigned my position as his assistant, he pulled out the big guns to try and control my life. Well, he'd won. He owned me. I'd made a deal with the devil and only time would tell if my heart would be broken.