Page 8 of Hallowed & Haunted
“Nothing. Nothing is going to happen. We’ll go.” Sander glares at Henrik. A disgruntled, slightly drunk devil. Niillas isovercome by the weird urge to adjust his horns and smooth his disheveled hair.
“When we come back tomorrow, you all owe me peak performance in training. No whining. No missed practices. And the defense pays by listening to Vars.”
“Deal,” Henrik says immediately. “But if you chicken out and come back before morning, you’re buying drinks for the entire team until Christmas.”
“We won’t chicken out.”
Sander’s jaw sets stubbornly, then he turns to Niillas. The party gradually returns to its previous energy, people moving on to other conversations and games, and Sander gestures sharply toward the kitchen.
Right, they have to discuss this.
“What’s your game, Vars?” Sander hisses as soon as they’re alone.
“Maybe I don’t want to explain to Coach why our captain went missing in the woods.”
Sander makes a soft, discontented sound, almost a growl, that resonates with something usually locked away in Niillas’ chest. A part of him that isn’t allowed to come out and play butwantsto.
Dangerous territory.
“Right. When do we go?” Sander checks his phone. “It’s only ten-thirty. We could head out now and get there before midnight.”
Sander’s speech is clear enough, but Niillas takes in his flushed cheeks, remembers how he swayed slightly when he rose from the couch.
“Are you sober enough for this shit?”
Sander gives him a flat look.
“I’m fine.”
That’s not what Niillas asked, but he nods anyway.
“All right. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
“I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
Emma and Jonas enter the kitchen, and Niillas is relieved that their arrival puts an end to the beginning argument. Because if they start arguing now, Sander might insist on going alone, and that isnotgoing to happen.
Without a word, Jonas begins preparing a picnic basket with some bottled water, juice, granola bars, and sandwiches while Emma watches them with a worried expression.
“This is idiotic. And dangerous. The house could be on the verge of collapse.”
“I don’t think so, if Henrik’s cousin is trying to sell it,” Sander says, as if the prospect of spending a very cold, very uncomfortable night in a haunted house doesn’t worry him at all.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Henrik is full of shit,” Emma hisses.
“Text us every few hours so we know you’re alive, okay?”
To Niillas’ surprise, Jonas sounds genuinely concerned. Maybe there are some decent guys on his team after all.
“We will,” Sander promises, grinning like this whole dare is a huge joke to him.
Silly city boy has no idea what he’s getting himself into.
Niillas takes the basket and follows Sander out into the cold October night. Sander pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself. He’s laughably ill-dressed for their purpose, and Niillas has to resist the urge to offer him something warmer to wear. Above them, the aurora borealis has begun its nightly dance, green ribbons of light twisting across the star-studded sky.
“Beautiful night for ghost hunting,” Sander says.
It’s indeed a beautiful night, and the veil between the worlds is thin. Niillas takes a quick glance into the trunk of his Defender, checking over his gear. Sleeping bag. Torchlight. Ax. Everything’s there.