Page 4 of Hot Ghoul Summer (Pine Ridge Universe)

Chapter Four:

Welcome to Stockholm

WHAT I HAVE HERE IS a very fucked up Beauty and the Beast situation, ladies and gents.

Or...It could just be me. No, it’s definitely just me. I’ve locked myself in a room in a beachside mansion with a murdering psycho magician who may or may not be an actual supernatural being. I didn’t even think to bring my purse when I stormed off.

Gahhh.

What was I saying? Right, Beauty and the Beast .

In the lovely fairytale film I grew up with, a kindly old man stumbles into the castle of a hideous beast, angers him by doing absolutely nothing wrong, and the beast imprisons him.

Beauty, the good-hearted, unselfish daughter, searches for her father and nobly offers to stay with the beast in his castle in exchange for her dad’s freedom.

Cue Stockholm Syndrome and the girl being beguiled by talking appliances and a snorting, hairy buffalo-bear-lion-man.

Now, in my version, the scummy sleazeball ex-stepfather lures the overly greedy but well-meaning stepdaughter to the monster’s castle (beachfront property), skips town in a stolen car, and leaves the girl to get killed by the beast, who at least doesn’t look like a hairy horror movie.

If he weren’t a kidnapping killer, I’d say Toby is average to above average in attractiveness, with gorgeous skin, curly hair that reminds me of a younger Benedict Cumberbatch, and a calm, sweet voice with an accent that would delight a host of PBS fans.

But I digress.

I’m trapped. Absolutely trapped. At least Beauty had talking furniture. Also, Beast was just selfish and spoiled. He didn’t kill people. My guy kills people.

I sit on the bed with a thump. No giant springy jaws of death pop out. Spikes don’t come through the mattress. The room doesn’t seem to be booby trapped.

The furniture is clean and natural wood, like a beach resort bed and breakfast would have, not heavy, dark furniture that I thought a Victorian relic owned by Death himself would sport. Even the bed is lined with a thick, fluffy sunset-pink-and-purple comforter. There’s the scent of summer breezes and something faintly floral in the room. It would be relaxing if I wasn’t in mortal danger.

“Molly? Do you want your handbag, dear?”

I freeze. Toby’s voice is right outside my door. He could probably materialize in here if he wanted, but he doesn’t. That timid voice is a trap. A lure.

“No!” I shout and look around for something heavy to smack him with when he inevitably charges in here.

“Oh. Okay, then. I’ll leave it in the hall, shall I? What about your tea? I could do cocoa.”

“What the fuck of kind of kidnapper are you?” I shout.

“I’m not kidnapping you! I’m keeping you safe!”

“I want to be safe in my own apartment.” I beat my fist against the door.

“Mortals can find that apartment. It wouldn’t take any effort at all for Gary to tell them where to find you, but even if he changed his mind, did the honorable thing, and kept his trap shut, he’s told people enough to find you. How many nursing students at Penn State are named Martina and have beautiful blonde and brown curls, those adorable freckles, and that big, gorgeous smile?”

I pause. The bit about nursing students at Penn State named Martina is a valid point. The other stuff? That’s just flattery. Or a sick sign that he finds me attractive.

Murderers finding you attractive isn’t a good thing.

“Why do you care if they find me?” I ask. I don’t buy the bit about it being the right thing to do. So is not killing people.

“Well...” I hear Toby’s voice shift and a soft thump in the hall. His voice comes from lower down, and I see a shadow blocking the narrow opening between the door and the floor. “Seeing as you won’t come out and I don’t know how else to fix this, I could tell you why—but you’ll think it’s idiotic.”

“That would be a step up from thinking you’re a murdering rapist,” I spit.

“Oi!”

I gasp as Toby shows up in my room, glaring. “Don’t say that rubbish. I’ve never ever touched a woman unless she wanted me to, and reaping is different from murdering.” With that, he vanishes, and the thump in the hall sounds again.

I can’t explain it, but the fact that he entered my room to tell me off and then immediately left calms me. It’s like he respects the boundaries I’ve set—at least a little. I still have to hate him, though. He’s not letting me go, and he’s death’s ambassador.

“I was born in what you Yanks would call “colonial times,” but I was on the English side of the pond. King Charles I was on the throne, not that it would have mattered whose velvet breeches were sitting there, squatting over the ‘common folk.’ I lived in London, which was teeming with filth, plague, and poverty—at least down my way. My father was dead, and my mum had a handful of little ones younger than me, so I was the man of the house, and responsible for taxes. I couldn’t pay them. I tried a lot of things.”

I can’t help it. I’m a nurse. Trained to be empathetic, to listen. I sit on the bed, listening to the far away notes in his voice, chords of sadness and anger in his voice that time still hasn’t healed.

“Parliament hadn’t met in about ten bloody years. He was raising money for his precious ships, but even inland counties had to pay. God. Molly, you don’t need to know all this.”

“No. I... I want to know.” He could be lying.

He doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Even when I called him a liar, he never sounded like a liar. I just didn’t want to believe him.

“You couldn’t pay, the law came and took you to debtors’ prison until you paid or you rotted. My mum couldn’t pay—not unless she starved the rest of the little ‘uns to do it. So I told her I’d figure something else out. I ran. I tried to find work. I even thought about stealing, but everyone around me had the same issues—too poor to steal from, or if I took from them, then their kids would be the ones with a parent in prison. But there was one girl... One very brave, beautiful girl, Molly. That was her name. I don’t know how she got the money she did, but she tried to give it to me before it was too late—and it wasn’t enough. Even though I had a little money to pay towards our taxes, the sheriff took me in. Molly spit in his eye and got in a good punch or two on one of the bailiffs. They kicked her in the stomach and knocked her in the mud, but at least they didn’t take her to prison, too. But I had to watch, not able to help her up or even say thank you.”

The longing in his voice would melt a stone. And I tell myself that this is the danger. This is how they get you. They make you feel, and then they do horrible things to you. They’ll find parts of me in the attic or washed up in the lake.

I swallow. On the other hand, if I keep him talking, that’s less time being dead, right?

“She loved you?”

“Nah. She liked me. She didn’t like people mucking about with the good, decent folks down our way, especially not to pay for some rich royal’s fancy fleet.” Toby lets out a long, heavy sigh. “I loved her, though. Not in any particularly useful way. From afar. Couldn’t help myself. She was kind and clever and a bit wild—gave her mum fits by running out in the streets with the lads instead of staying inside. And so, so beautiful. She looked exactly like you. And before you think I’m some poor sap with an obsession, I haven’t thought about Molly in years and years. She’s long dead and gone, off in a quiet section of Heaven. But when I saw your face on that phone screen—I knew it was my chance to pay Molly back for her kindness. She tried to save my life. I’m trying to save yours.”

Well. If it’s a lie, it's a nicely constructed one. I ease off the bed and go back to pacing. “Isn’t that kind of out of character for you? You kill, not save.”

“That’s not true, you know. People die whether we collect their souls or not. If you had to go, wouldn’t you want a bit of company to walk you to the next stop, so to speak?”

I shrug. “Maybe.”

“Can I get you that tea now? Handbag? Toothbrush?”

“No. I don’t want anything but to be left alone and to get the hell out of here.”

“Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“I can take care of myself! You’re the one holding me hostage!”

Toby’s head pops in the door, and he’s scowling. “Consider me your guard dog, and this is your safe house. You have the run of the place, all right? There’s a library, a sauna, a hot tub, a decent home theater system...” he trails off. “The fridge is stocked with whatever you fancy.”

“So you planned this, huh?”

“No! It’s how it works. Union perks. This is the only two weeks I’ll get off this year, and my contract says I get luxury accommodations, all expenses paid for, all preferences considered. You’re my guest, so the house will give you the same benefits.”

“Is privacy one of them?” I glare, tone ice cold.

Toby vanishes.

I hurry to the bedroom window. There’s a gorgeous view of the lake. “Open up and have a ladder ready,” I whisper.

Nothing.

Toby’s voice calls “Doesn’t work like that!”

God, he’s annoying.

I throw myself down on the bed. I’m not going to sleep. I’m going to plot.