Love sucks.
CHAPTER NINE
HELLHOUND
“While the word 'hellhound' may be a grievous caconym, these creatures, originating from Faerie, are still certainly nothing to be trifled with. Though they may register to the senses as just another one of the undead, be warned: they cannot be summoned. A hellhound outside of Faerie has one purpose and one purpose only: to retrieve a soul.”
Red velvet cake with cream cheese icing stared blankly back at me from its transitional home on one of my mother's tiny, white and gold china plates. I gripped my fork in one hand, held out in front of me like a weapon while I clutched the plate close to my chest like a shield.
Lou sat across from me, matching cake and plate in hand, and glared daggers at me.
“Isn't this nice?” my mother gushed, refilling her miniature tea cup with steaming Earl Grey from an ornate, rotund white and gold teapot. “Having the whole family together again.”
Lou turned her head away from me slowly, all the while changing her expression from scornful and disapproving to perky and joyful.
“Not the whole family, Mother,” she chirped perkily. We'd always called Mom, Mom. Mother was her new way of trying to sound more sophisticated. “Joseph's still making his way through God's skyline.”
“Why can't you just say 'on an airplane' like a normal human being?” I snapped, eliciting a warning stare from Mom. I was still pissed that Lou's husband, Joseph, was coming all the way to the west coast from their little, Podunk hometown in Arkansas just to pick my sister up. Lou was a thirty-two year old, pregnant woman, not an invalid.
I stabbed the fork into the cake and scooped up as large a bite as I could manage, jamming it into my mouth aggressively. I would never consider the self absorbed, Bible Belt native as part of the family. Dad was the only member missing in my opinion, and he'd been missing fifteen years.
“Georgette, don't chew with your mouth open.” I snapped my mouth closed automatically and immediately felt angry with myself. Stand up to your mother for once in your life, George. But I didn't. I kept my mouth closed and listened to the two of them turn an innocuous conversation about all of the recent tourist traffic in our Pacific Coast hometown of Eula into a heated, moral debate. I didn't think it was that weird considering we were the only major city between San Francisco and Portland.
I ignored the conversation, which I found incredibly dull, and cut myself another slice of cake. One of the few benefits of being an undead, rotting corpse was that you could eat whatever the hell you wanted without worrying about it going to your waistline.
“They seemed like nice people,” Lou droned as I admired the baker's decision to put fresh raspberries between the layers. “I think they called themselves … ” She paused, pursing her lips together before reaching for her white and gold purse. Lou pulled out a pastel yellow brochure with a flourish and squinted at it. “The Coalition of the Righteous Living.”
I choked on a mammoth bite of cream cheese and red velvet, wet crumbs spilling down the front of my silk, ochre button up. Lou wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“That's a sign, Georgette,” Mom said absentmindedly, taking the brochure in one, slim boned hand. “You don't need anymore cake. Remember, a moment on the lips, forever on the hips.” I snatched one of my mother's hand embroidered, cloth napkins and dabbed at my shirt.
“C-c-c – ” I couldn't even get the words out. I paused, took a deep breath. “Coalition of the Righteous Living, huh? What did they say they were about?” My mother passed the flyer to me and I snatched at it greedily, eliciting more concerned stares. “Just curious,” I mumbled, turning the page around so that I could read it. I had thought that this visit was going to be just an obstacle between me and my chance to question Amadan about Rachel and the Gray, but now it seemed it was turning into an important source of information.
“They're doing all sorts of good things for the community,” Lou blathered as if she were the definitive expert on the cult though I doubted she knew much more than the pamphlet. I scanned the text quickly, incredulous that anyone was buying what the CRL (as they referred to themselves as) was selling. The cult had somehow figured out how to sense the undead, but the normal population didn't even know that we existed. How on earth were they managing to peddle this crap?
“It says here that they're 'ridding the world of vampires, ghouls, and other unholy creatures of Satan.'” I met my sister's eyes. Stubborn, mazarine depths locked onto mine, full of more determination and drive than I'd ever had or would ever have, new Georgette or no. Her face was like mine, too, skin pale and perfect but paper thin, a small, well-defined nose, and round, rosebud lips. Our eyes stayed locked together for several moments like two bulls butting horns. I looked away first.
“I'm sure it's just an expression, Georgette. With all of these vampire and zombie books and movies out nowadays, how can you blame them for trying to take a stand against all the damage they've done? They rot children's minds.” She caressed a hand over her swollen belly. It was disturbing in a way, almost like looking at an effigy of myself that I would never become. “I'll never expose Janice to anything like that.” I almost laughed. It was funny in a macabre, pathetic sort of a way.
“No, Janice, you can't watch Night of the Living Dead, but go play with your Auntie Georgie; she's a real, live zombie.”
“You're not seriously considering joining these freaks?” I scoffed, stuffing the pamphlet surreptitiously into my own purse. Lou set her teacup down with an angry clink of china, the lines around her mouth pale and tight.
“They're not freaks, Georgette,” she snapped, and I noticed with no small amount of glee that my mother gave Lou her very own warning glare. “These are wholesome, God fearing people.” My new found joy disappeared in a rush as my mother nodded her acquiescence. I felt a chill crawl up my spine as two pairs of identical eyes turned towards me.
Grab your purse and go. Grab your purse and go!
My fingers crawled slowly across the pink and green floral pattern on the couch cushions, straining for the strap of my purse. I knew what this meant when the two of them had that twinkle in their eyes. I was about to get lectured.
“Georgette, honey … ” It was my mother this time. I watched her carefully as she nervously adjusted the lid on the teapot while her other, bandaged wrist lay still in her lap. I knew her habits well enough to know that if she was fidgeting (Annette French hates fidgeting) then something was wrong. At fifty-four years old, her hands were still unblemished and smooth as they caressed the tiny lid. I waited tensely as her long, nails traced a line of gold filigree down the handle and waited for that familiar azure gaze to lock onto mine. My sister sat silently next to her, hands folded in her lap.
The two of us were like younger, carbon copies of my mother. Even with the age difference between her and us, the only difference was that her auburn hair had gone silver and was now scooped into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck. I examined her carefully, waiting for the bomb to drop, and only hoped that I would be lucky enough to live to an age where I could see silver streak my hair, too.
“How long have you and Corey been seeing each other?” The question was so innocuous and completely unexpected that I just blinked stupidly for several moments. I had been expecting something far worse like their 'intervention' two years ago to get me to stop smoking. It had involved shock therapy and a dousing in holy water and was so bizarre that I still had trouble making sense of it.
“Um, maybe six months now?” I said, mentally calculating the day's date from the date of that fateful spring swim. “Why?” Mom released the teapot from her ministrations and leaned back into her decorative, dusty rose satin pillows.
“We think that he's a bad influence on you.” This coming from Lou who had never actually met Corey. I reminded her of that point.
“You don't even know him,” I hissed back at her as she cupped her belly and glared at me.
“I don't need to. Look at what happened ye
sterday, Georgette. We were so worried about you.” I scowled at her. Maybe Mom had been worried but not Lou; I wasn't buying it.
“I didn't call Mom for two days. What does that have to do with Corey?”
“He works with dead bodies, Georgette. That's just not normal,” my mother said, exasperation clear in her voice. You have absolutely no idea of what's going on in my life. Why are you making things so hard for me?
“How is that not normal? He's a funeral director!” I protested. “Somebody has to do it. What do you expect people to do, toss their dead kin in the streets?” My mother gasped as if I'd just insulted her terribly.
“Georgette French!” She exclaimed, all overblown hysterics. My mother: California's best drama queen. “When did you become so uppity?” I sighed and heard myself mumbling an apology before I even knew what I was doing. Cower, as usual. Nice one.
“I've gotta go,” I whispered as the two of them exchanged another glance.
“I suppose we can finish this conversation later,” my mother said.
“What do you mean later?” I asked her, throwing the strap of my purse over one shoulder. Lou smiled, sweet as pie.
“Joseph and I are taking the two of you out for a nice dinner. Eight o'clock, Georgette. Meet us here. We'll all drive together. Joe's renting a BMW.” I rolled my eyes and mumbled my approval. There wouldn't be any getting out of this one.
“Fine, I'll be here.” I paused on my way down the hallway and smiled to myself. “With Corey.” I didn't hear their protests; I was out the door in a flash, grinning to myself like a fool.
I took out my keys and unlocked the door to Corey's white Chevy Express. The cargo van wasn't the best or the fanciest car around, but my Impala had been lent to Lynna for the day. She'd been nice enough to retrieve it from where I'd left it when I'd gone after Rachel. I sort of owed her one.
I sighed with satisfaction at my departing barb at Lou and Mom and settled into the gray seat, slamming the door and starting up the engine. The van smelt a little like rot and dog breath but then, it always smelt like that. Corey used it to transport his zombies, even me when I was unglamoured, and any other unsavory things he managed to summon.
It wasn't until I felt hot, warm breath on my neck that I realized that something was amiss. When I turned my head around to find out what the hell was breathing on my skin, I almost passed out from fright.
It looked much like an Irish wolfhound, long limbs and square head, muscular, with a curving sweep of tail, but that was where the resemblance ended. This beast was hairless, skinless even. I could see each and every muscle and tendon on the damn thing as easily as I would have if I had been looking at an anatomical model of a dog. Not to mention that with the lack of jowls, I was served an eyeful of inch long canines and several rows of smaller, but no less wicked looking, teeth designed specifically for the tearing of flesh. I screamed and flung the wheel to the side, hoping to knock it off balance.
It did. The horrible imitation of a wolfhound stumbled and smashed into the side of the van with a yelp as I careened over the grassy shoulder and into a small, barbed wire fence. I slammed my high heeled foot onto the brake and put the van in park before opening the door and flinging myself from the vehicle.
I stumbled to my feet and took off running as fast I was able. Unfortunately, my mother lived just far enough off the beaten path that there were no other cars driving by. Not that I would know what to say or do with them after they saw what was chasing me. The hound was gaining on me fast, despite my supernatural burst of speed. It's long, loping stride could outrun me even on a good day, and today wasn't a very good day. My heels sunk into the moist dirt with each step and it took every ounce of strength in my calves to pull them out and keep going at a speedy pace.
When it finally caught up to me, it leapt up and put its front paws on my back, knocking me into the grass. I screamed as the monster bore down on me and tried to grab its neck. I was hoping maybe I'd be able to break it and kill the thing, but it didn't give me the chance. It stopped just short of reach and sniffed at my legs for several, long, agonizing seconds before turning its muzzle to the sky and howling. The sound was that of a wolf, lonely and haunting but with a whimsical lilt that made it seem more like the creature was singing than anything else. It was a requiem of pain, like the banshee, like that damned tree. Is everything related to that place suffering?
It's not going to hurt you, don't be afraid, my new voice told me and this time, it sounded suspiciously male, deep and low. Even though I knew it was just my subconscious, it was eerie. I'd never spoken to me as guy before. My inner voice had always sounded just like my outer. Apparently new, brave Georgette identified as a man. I filed that issue away for later.
“What do you want?” I whispered to the hound, its red eyes glinting in the afternoon sun as it took another whiff of my exposed calf and then turned on its heel and began to trot away. “Where are you going?” I shouted after it. It ignored me and continued to run until it disappeared into the nearby redwoods.
I stood up slowly, brushing dirt and grass from my skirt and limped to the van. One of my heels had broken in my mad dash for safety. I crawled back into the driver's seat and sat still, slumped over the wheel and confused, my adrenaline racing.
What the fuck just happened to me? I wondered as I stared at the dashboard clock. The creature looked straight out of a fucking horror movie and all it had wanted to do was sniff me. I didn't believe it for a second. I grabbed my purse and dug quickly around until I found my cell phone. There were already two missed calls. One from Mom and one from Corey.
I called Corey back and waited, hands shaking, while I waited for him to answer.
“George, I need you here now,” he said when he answered. He sounded almost as scared as I felt.
“Why, what's wrong?”
“You've just been assassinated.”
Two things had occurred in my short time away from the house. One, Corey's wraith, Mai, had returned from whatever secretive place she had bent sent to and two, I had been killed. Well, not really me of course but Colette. I tip toed across the gravel drive, broken heels in hand, and almost tripped over the mess of blood and brain that was now serving as our welcome mat.
“What the fuck?” I choked out as I stumbled across the threshold of the front door and directly into Mai's arms. Her eyes, like two pools of used car oil, dark and grimy, glared down at me as she flashed me a mouthful of black and yellow teeth, chipped and broken like a set of antique dominoes. I shoved back against her chest and for a brief moment, there was a testing of strength between us. Since we were fairly evenly matched, we both gave in and stepped back, giving each other an appropriate amount of personal space.
Corey stormed into the room, the very ideal of rage and fury, and stopped short of the rusty pool. He held out a hand as if to say, “What the hell happened to you?”
My delicate shirt and skirt were torn and stained with dirt and I figured there had to be at least three or four twigs wound in my hair, not to mention my broken shoes, but that would mean nothing to Corey when he saw the van. It had been in perfect condition, at least on the outside, when I'd left. Now, one of the headlights was broken from the fence post I'd hit and the paint had been thoroughly torn up by the bits of barbed wire that were still embedded in the front grill.
“Can't it wait till later?” I whined, making my own rude hand gesture first at Mai and then at the completely, redead Colette. Her body was still in good shape, lying still and perfect a mere two feet away from the carnage, but her head, or what was left of it, had clearly been blown off by some sort of gun. Corey sighed and nodded once, glancing briefly up at Amadan who was now making his way down the stairs, wrapped only in one of our fluffy, white towels, hair still dripping.
“You told me I was dead. Explain.” Corey held out a crumpled note which I snatched in the one hand that wasn't holding the trashed shoes and scanned the scribbled letters quickly.
It said, in layman's te
rms, that I was essentially, the Antichrist, and that my eradication lay in direct conjunction with the Lord's wishes. Not only did it specifically mention me as the unholy dead, a zombie, and Corey's lover but also by my full name, Georgette Marie French.
“Where the hell did you get this from?” I asked, brandishing the note in front of his face. I could just about feel a panic attack coming on. Amadan paused behind me and plucked the note from my fingers, holding it to his face for a moment before handing it back to me.
“I'm sorry,” he said, voice as light as air, unconcerned about the dead woman lying less than four feet from his freshly scrubbed skin. “But I can't read English.” He was still speaking the language of the sidhe which, I was happy to discover, Mai didn't understand a word of.
“What did he just say?” she hissed between her wobbly, rotten teeth.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Corey snapped, ordering her and one of his lich servants to clean up the body. She scowled with her frost-blue lips as she picked up hunks of hairy scalp and pink stained skull.
“It says that the Coalition of the Righteous Living sent someone here to kill me.” I turned the note back around and stared at it. “And it's even written on their own personal stationery. They must be getting pretty established if they have their own stationery.” I knew I was starting to sound frantic and was making absolutely no sense, but I didn't care. If I'd been home, instead of Colette, and answered the door in place of her, it would have been my undead brains littering the cool marble of the entryway. The worst part of it all was that I didn't even know if it would kill me. I might be left a semi-sentient pile of flesh. I shivered and crumpled the note into a ball.
“And,” I stressed, placing the wad back into Corey's hand. “They don't just know where I live and what I am but who I am. How do they know my name?” Corey shrugged.
Gray and Graves: A Dark Fae Menage Urban Fantasy (The Three Courts of Faerie Book 1) Page 11
