SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (24 page)

“He was old when he came for me. But his hate and anger had turned him into something stronger than a man half his age.”

It took a moment for Reilly to register what she’d just said.
He was old when he came for me
. The bastard had impregnated her grandmother, her mother, and he’d gone after Chloe, too? It was sick beyond his understanding, but he didn’t think for a moment that she was lying. The raw shame in her voice was too real.

“I was a young woman, still in school when it happened. It killed my mother, knowing what he’d done. Eventually, she died of her despair.”

A logical part of Reilly wanted to argue that someone couldn’t die of despair, but the night he’d stood in front of the mirror and shaved his head, his own anguish had felt great enough to kill him, hadn’t it?

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

“Hear me out. Please.”

Reluctantly, Reilly nodded.

“For generations my family has told stories about this man.” She pointed at the picture, revulsion on her face. “We thought he was dead once, but it was merely a fool’s hope. My mother believed he couldn’t be killed and that he haunts our family still. Carolina Beck also held this belief.”

Reilly looked at the picture and back at Chloe. He didn’t know what to say.

“My grandmother lived in this very place. Here, at the Diablo.”

Her pause felt more than weighted. It felt of things he couldn’t understand, things she didn’t want to explain. The heaviness of it filled the stillness until it seemed like sand, shifting, but so dense it threatened to crush them.

“Why are you here, Chloe?”

She moved back to the table and sat down with an exhausted sound. Age hunched her shoulders and darkened the crescents beneath her eyes. When she spoke, it wasn’t to answer his question.

“Even before I understood what there was to be afraid of, I knew my mother was frightened. It was in the way she’d watch the horizon, the way she’d check the locks after dark during a time when people didn’t lock their doors. It was in the shadows of her eyes. We were like animals in a cage, trapped by our own fears. Our family stories told of how we’d tried to get away from him and how he always tracked us down and made us pay.” She looked at him. “Do you know what my mother’s name was? Misery. They named her Misery. She was a child born of pain, and my grandmother wanted her to always remember that.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t. Sometimes sense cannot be made from violence. You, of all people, should know that.”

He nodded in acknowledgment, but he couldn’t quite meet her steady gaze. Quietly, he splashed more scotch into both their glasses. Chloe gave him a weak smile and downed hers.

“He still plagues my family. I believe he plagues Gracie’s, as well.”

“Plagues? He can’t still be alive?”

“Can’t he?”

“If he was old when you were a girl, then he’d be over a hundred, hundred and twenty by now.”

“His body, yes. Not his spirit.”

“You’re talking about ghosts, again.”

“There
is
another world, Nathan Reilly Alexander, and it exists within our own. My gift, my curse, is that
I feel
the spirits around me. Sometimes I can help them find the resolutions they seek. Sometimes I can only suffer alongside them.”

He glanced at the kitchen. He could smell the potatoes and carrots roasting alongside the meat, now.

“I have visions. Terrible visions. I
saw
the murder of Gracie’s mother.”

“She fell into the springs, Chloe. Hardly murder.”

“In the middle of the night? Why would she be out there, in a place everyone in this town fears?”

He said nothing. More disturbed than he cared to admit, he glanced at the picture again. He could feel Chloe tightening the threads of her tale, and he knew that somehow he’d end up at its center.

“Diablo Springs has been haunted by evil for years, Nathan. Your people talk of the Dead Lights as if they’re some phenomena of steam and moonbeams. But no one mentions all the bodies in those caverns. You know there are many.”

He knew. It was probably chock-full of dead bodies. But evil spirits . . .

“My, that roast smells delicious,” Chloe said.

“Old houses smell. Damp brings it out.”

“Of course. What else could it be?”

He turned his back on the picture. “Cut to the chase, Chloe.”

“Three months ago yesterday, my mother came to me in a vision.”

She watched him closely, watched a reaction he couldn’t stop sweep across his face. Three months ago yesterday, Matt died.

“Every night since, she has come. Last night she was joined by Carolina Beck. Nathan, your Gracie and her daughter are both in danger.”

“Because of your visions?”

“Because it’s
true
,” she cried, anger making her voice sharp. “Do you think I
want
to be here? I have tried to forget this horrible place my entire life.”

The throb in her voice struck Reilly deep. Hadn’t he tried to forget Diablo Springs in the same way? Hadn’t he found a way to survive by wiping his memory of everything that had happened prior to his leaving here? It wasn’t that he forgot; it was that he didn’t choose to remember. And being back now was like peeling the scab off a festered wound.

“I came because I want to stop
seeing
Diablo Springs. I’m an old woman. I want to know peace before I die. Now I ask you again, when did your brother change?”

Reilly didn’t even have to think about it. Matt changed the night their father had beaten their mother to death. The night Matt had returned the favor.

He wished it weren’t so easy to play the memory in his head, but something like that you never forgot. After their father was dead, he and Matt had shoved his body behind the wheel of his old Grand Prix and rigged it to drive right into the springs. For weeks after, every time he closed his eyes, he saw those taillights wink an instant before they plunged down into that pitch-black hole. He could still here the boom and screech of metal twisting.

As they’d stood watching, the clouds had shifted and the moon broke free. Reilly had looked into his brother’s face then, and he’d seen it. He’d seen the change. As if some kind of exchange had been made. A deposit. A withdrawal. His dad for his brother.

Reilly knew what came next. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stop Chloe from prying deeper any more than he could have stopped that night from happening. He stood and strode to the window, staring out at the storm.

He said, “Why are you asking me questions when you know the answers? Who wouldn’t change after what we saw, what we lived through?”

“You didn’t.”

“The hell I didn’t.”

She braced herself against the back of a chair as she faced him. “I know what’s in your heart, Nathan. I know you yearn to remember your brother as a good man. You don’t blame him for your father’s death. The law was willing to believe your story; this town was willing to turn a blind eye to what was obvious because they knew your father and they’d done nothing to help you boys or your mother against him. But after that . . . after that, Matt changed. He wasn’t a monster before, but he became one, and you couldn’t protect him anymore. Wouldn’t you like to know why? Wouldn’t you like to release his spirit from the guilt of this world? Wouldn’t you like to release yourself from the feelings of failing him?”

Reilly swallowed around a lump of emotion. He didn’t answer. He didn’t move a muscle. He couldn’t.

“Do you know why your father beat your mother?”

“Because he could.”

“Yes, because he owned her. And nothing in this world would ever change that. If she’d left him, he’d have followed. No matter where she went, he would have found her.”

Reilly stared at a point over her shoulder, fighting to keep the tide of his feelings from spilling over. Spilling out.

“My grandfather felt the same about these women,” she said, gesturing to the picture again. “He still does. You’ve recognized the woman in the middle, haven’t you? You see the resemblance between her and Gracie. She’s Gracie’s great-grandmother, Ella.”

“If you say so.”

“She’s the one he wants.”

“Well, that should make it easy then. She’s dead, he’s dead. Let him have her.”

The look on Chloe’s face made him regret the words as soon as they were spoken. “Would you condemn your
brother’s
soul to hell so easily?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. He supposed his expression was answer enough. If he could save Matt’s soul, he’d do whatever it took.

“There are only women in the Beck family. You’ve noted this, I’m sure. Each generation is another chance for my grandfather to have his precious Ella.” Hatred flashed across her face. “He lured Gracie’s mother to the springs. He lured her daughter there, too.
Your
daughter.”

His daughter.
On the heels of the thought came a rush of protectiveness that stunned him.

“I told you last night,
you
are part of the story. And I gave you the excuse you needed to come. I’m here to end the cycle, Nathan. I’m here to send my grandfather to the other side.”

“How?”

“There are two reasons why he won’t leave. The first, as I’ve told you, is Ella and her lineage. He considers the Beck women his possessions. He wants them back.”

“And the second reason?”

“He’s searching for something. Something lost. Again, something he believes belongs to him.”

“And what is that?”

She looked guarded for a moment. “I don’t know.”

“I think you do.”

“That’s because you don’t believe what I’m telling you. You’re looking for a concrete
thing
that will explain it all in a tidy way.”

Fair enough.
“So how do you plan to accomplish the ending of this cycle?”

“I want to do a séance, Nathan. Tonight. I need Gracie and Analise in my circle. And you. We are all connected in ways I don’t understand. My mother, your brother, Gracie, and now Analise. I have to know what happened. I need to see the past so I can protect against the future.”

Reilly laughed. “Are you out of your fucking mind? Even if I believed everything you said—which I don’t—I’m not going to be part of a
séance
.
And your kettle’s cracked if you think Gracie will stand for it.”

“She will if you ask her.”

“Which I won’t. There’s a lot of history between me and Gracie, Chloe. None of it inspires the kind of faith in me you’re imagining.”

Chloe’s smile was resigned. She shook her head and took a step away. Like magic, Bill chose that moment to appear, and Reilly had to wonder how long he’d been listening. Mr. Rogers chose that moment to make his way down the stairs, too, looking surprised to find them there. He was a shitty actor. He’d probably heard the whole damn thing. Suddenly royally pissed off, Reilly splashed more scotch into his glass and gave the caretaker a look that said,
Open your mouth and lose some teeth
.

Chloe leaned heavily on Bill as he led her to the stairway. “You don’t have to believe in me, Reilly, but think about what I’ve said. If I’m right, it could bring closure to years of pain. And if I’m wrong . . .” She shrugged. “Think how good it would be in your new book. The atmosphere alone would be mesmerizing. And should I prove true and raise a spirit or two, my, my, wouldn’t that be something.”

Oh, she was manipulative. She cast that hook effortlessly and snagged him with her sly lure. But he didn’t bite. Chloe stared at him for a moment, surprise widening her eyes just a little. She thought she’d have him that easily. What made him angry, though, was the desire to sink his teeth into her bait. She was right. Without him even being aware, the structure of a story had been building and linking in his head, and now he saw it, standing like the wooded framework of a house, waiting for the walls, the windows, the paint. It was huge and precise. And if she delivered on a séance tonight, and he could capture that in words and mood . . .

“You’ve let her down before, Nathan,” she said, her eyes now sparkling with an inner knowledge he resented even more. “What if I’m right? What if this time you could help?”

“Help with what?” Jonathan asked. He moved to the table and eyed the bottle. “Where’d you find that?”

Angry, Reilly swiped the bottle off the table and moved away, the smell of roasting meat so strong it was sickening now.

“You cooking something?” Jonathan asked innocently.

“Get the fuck out of my face,” he snapped.

Jonathan raised his hands and gave a shaky laugh. “Sure thing, Clint. Just don’t shoot me.”

Jonathan muttered something about
assholes
and headed into the kitchen. Finally alone, Reilly turned back to the mantel and the picture. He stared at it, seeing more than he had before. From the start, there’d been no missing the resemblance between Gracie and the woman seated in the center of the picture. That alone had dominated his attention. Now the tidy man in the background became a young, pasty version of the woman who’d just left.

But as he stared from one face to another, he saw more. Beside the pinstriped suit was another man, one nearly concealed by the shadows and the smoke. Reilly moved closer, staring into the man’s face, prying his features from the faded picture. Like an optical illusion where the image is hidden until you stare at it long enough, the man’s face jumped into focus. Reilly took a step back. Then another. But now that he’d seen it, he couldn’t
unsee
it no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t believe it, couldn’t dismiss it.

That man looked like someone else who’d been gathered here in this throwback saloon in this ghost town that wouldn’t quietly fade away.

That’s man’s face looked very much like the one superimposed on the glass that covered it. That man looked like Nathan Reilly Alexander.

Diablo Springs: Chapter Twenty-One

June 1896

Arizona Territory

We’d been on the move since daybreak, following the sun as it arched across the sky. Sawyer kept us off the road, though how he navigated through the great openness I’ll never know. He seemed certain we were heading in the right direction, however, and none of us thought to question him. He could have led us to hell and we’d have followed.