Nesting (Demonic Games Book 1) Page 7

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  Bunica crossed the room to him, reaching up with one hand to cup his cheek. The touch was warm and comforting, making it harder to look at her. I’m supposed to be taking care of her, he thought.

  Her heavy accent twisted the English words until he could barely understand them. But the kindness was unmistakable. “Sweet boy.”

  He turned his head slightly into her palm before finally meeting her gaze. “Who’s Claymont? Can they help?”

  She tilted her head but said nothing.

  “Bunica, we have to leave.” Pressing his back against the door, he couldn’t help but throw his hands around as he tried to think of the proper word. “Go, merge.”

  Instantly, she shook her head and dismissed the idea.

  “You want to stay here? With them?”

  Displaying more English than he had thought her capable of, she headed to her nightstand, all the while continuing to shake her hand.

  “I do not bow.”

  “This isn’t bowing, Bunica,” he muttered. “It’s fleeing.”

  She snorted, the nasal sound making it clear that she didn’t consider the two things to be different. It was a display of disdain towards something that terrified him, and he couldn’t bring himself to hold his head up in the face of it. Dropping his gaze to the floor, he hoped his hair was long enough to hide the way his cheeks burned. Bunica Draciana carefully took his wrist and lifted his hand, pressing a bundle of dried grass against his palm. The smell was instantly recognizable.

  “Sage?” he asked. The moment he said it, he remembered sage being mentioned in a few dozen paranormal programs. If he remembered correctly, it was called smudging. “We burn this stuff and the ghosts leave?”

  How long had she been living with them to have this set up? And that question only left him with more. Bunica Draciana put two fingers under his chin and forced his head up. When he met her gaze, she thumped her free hand against his chest.

  “Vaduva,” she said, as if the reminder of his family line would be enough to dispel all fears. With a fire in her eyes, she smiled. “Vaduva never bow.”

  Chapter 7

  It was impossible to smudge the whole castle. There were too many rooms and not enough sage. Mihail couldn’t help but feel like they were trying to save a sinking ship with a bucket. They cut a pathway through the house, leading from Bunica Draciana’s room to his, and down to the foyer and kitchen. Mihail made sure that he memorized the route. He wasn’t going to stray from it. Despite all his grandmother’s reassurances that they couldn’t cross the walls they had put up, it wasn’t enough. They couldn’t live like this. Something had to be done. It had barely been two days and he already felt like he was losing his grip on reality.

  Mihail had begged her to leave as they cleansed the house, but she wouldn’t hear of it. The stubbornness wasn’t entirely a shock. His mother complained time and again that it was his grandmother’s defining trait. Bunica would never surrender, never relent and there was nothing he could say that would sway her. When Mihail made his peace with this fact, he had switched his plan from fleeing to preservation. His suggestion to bring in a priest was met with a flash of rage that ended all conversation until she declared that the smudging was done and she was going to take a nap. Alone in his room, too afraid to sit on his bed, Mihail had tried to honor his grandmother’s wishes. But he couldn’t let it go. He had failed once to protect her, and he couldn’t do it again.

  As his skin tried to crawl off of his bones, Claymont had sat in his mind as his only option. Bunica Draciana hadn’t mentioned the name again, but she didn’t have to. If Claymont was someone she deemed worthy of calling during a time like that, then that was who he needed now. And it wouldn’t exactly be disobeying her. Mihail had turned his charging phone over and over in his hands, considering his next step. The simplest thing would be to call Claymont and hope he spoke English. He had concluded that he would have to go and see Claymont in person. It was easier to dismiss someone in need when you didn’t have to look them in the eye.

  It was surprisingly simple to find Claymont. All he had to do was combine the name and ‘Romania’ into a search engine. Half a dozen links had come up instantly, each pointing to the Claymont paranormal museum. And it was close enough that it would seem reasonable that Bunica Draciana would have called this married couple for help. Securing a taxi to take him there had actually taken longer than finding an address. When his ride had arrived, he crept up a flight of stairs to check on Bunica.

  Finding her still sleeping peacefully had made it easier to stick to his plan. The cab ride hadn’t helped ease his nerves. After passing through the town, they weaved once more into the mountains. The ground grew rocky, and the mountains shed their plant life in favor of barren peaks and trails of snow. It took an hour to reach the little stone farmhouse. And in that time, he hadn’t been able to adjust to the bright light and heat of the day. Nor had he been able to figure out what he was going to say. Especially without proof.

  Nerves sparked under his skin as he paid the driver and slipped out of the car. The scene was quaint and almost welcoming. Birds chirped and insects hummed, their songs filling the sweet smelling air. Hearing them again brought home how quiet it was at the castle. Mihail took a moment to enjoy this moment of peace, tipping his face up to bask in the sun as the car’s engine rumbled into the distance. Only when he was completely alone again did he fully take in his surroundings.

  The front yard of the farmhouse was a cluster of rocks and moss, with a hint of grass poking out from behind the structure, promising a lush back yard that sloped down the hill. The stones crunched under the soles of his shoes as he made his way to the house. Wooden shutters sealed the windows tight, but there was a thin trail of smoke wafting from the chimney, a small sign that someone was home. Set slightly higher on the slope was a small shed, its sliding door open wide, allowing a view into its dark innards.

  “Hello?” he called out, his voice cracking slightly as the scenario became all too familiar. He quickly checked the ground he was standing on, ensuring that there was no way he was going to get pushed off of anything high. “Hello, is anyone there?”

  An answering whisper made him turn to the shed.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello,” the voice came again. “Over here.”

  Mihail inched closer, unable to tell if the hushed speaker was male or female. “Mr. and Mrs. Claymont?”

  With every step, the flaws in his plan became a little bit clearer. Still, he put one foot in front of the other and climbed up to the shed door, hoping that Claymont didn’t turn out to be insane.

  “I’m really sorry to just drop in like this, but I’m a little desperate.”

  “I can’t really hear you,” the muffled voice said. “Come closer.”

  Dread filled his limbs as he reached the open door. Placing one hand on the wall, he glanced inside but didn’t dare to cross the threshold. The light coming in from behind him couldn’t penetrate the shadows. He squinted into it, trying to make sense out of the shapes before him. Rows of shelves filled the space, each one cluttered with odd trinkets. Scanning the room, it took him a moment to notice a shape crouched down opposite him. It was tucked against the far side of the shed, just beyond the rim of light. His eyes adjusted to the dark as he stared at it, adding definition to the object. It was a person, naked and still, with their arms wrapped tightly around their legs.

  Ice filled his veins. “Hello?”

  His fingers gripped the door as twin spikes began to rise up from the person’s back. They grew in broken jerks until the tips scraped across the ceiling. The shelves rattled as the limbs fanned out and drew back down, the tips settling against the earth. Mihail heard the dirt shift. Proof that whatever they were, they were solid and real.

  His jaw dropped open as another pair of long points emerged from the person. Then another set. The items clattered against each other as the limbs battled for space, their movemen
ts producing short, sharp clicks, like the shells of an insect. Slowly, the person began to rise. Not stand, but rise, lifting up like the limbs were cradling his weight.

  Not human.

  The thought snapped across his mind like lightening. It sizzled through his bones and locked his joints into place. He couldn’t move as the gigantic scorpion-like creature found its feet. The shift brought it into the weaker shadows, allowing Mihail to see the creature’s face. While the placement of the features was human, the proportions were wrong. Its eyes were sunken pits, its nose a hole within its skull. It smiled at him with a mouth so wide and flat that it looked more like a snake than a man. Mihail choked on his scream as it opened its mouth. Every inch of it was filled with rows of pincer-like fangs. The sight shattered him. With a flurry of clicks, the monster reared back and lunged towards him.

  Time slowed. Mihail couldn’t move. All he could do was watch as the gaping mouth crashed down towards him, the teeth twitching as they greedily sought out his flesh. A sudden pressure drove against the nape of his neck. The next second, he was airborne, ripped off his feet and hurtling backward. Mihail’s mind didn’t have time to process what was happening before he smashed down against the stones. They scattered under him as he slid to a stop. He never lost sight of the door. The creature screamed as it threw itself forward. Before it could cross the threshold, a man rushed forward to meet it.

  The stranger was a giant. A living wall of muscle that almost filled the entire width of the doorway. An instant before impact, he raised one arm to shield his head, crouched low, and braced his feet. The demonic beast slammed into his side. Mihail felt the impact like a sledgehammer to his chest. The air crackled and the monster screeched in rage. Spiderlike legs snapped out of the empty space above the man’s head. They flailed, creating sickening clicks as they braced against the side of the shed. Using the position as leverage, it tried to push itself out. But the man refused to give an inch. It screamed and struck out, trying to sink its fang-filled mouth into the man’s bare torso. While the man evaded the attacks, he didn’t give up his post. Mihail watched the man struggle to keep the creature contained. Blood splattered over the man’s back, the stones, and the colossal spider legs that continued to shove. The man bellowed, the words meaning nothing and almost lost amongst the demonic cries.

  This can’t be real. This thing can’t exist! Mihail’s brain repeated it like a mantra. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t move. This can’t be real. The man roared again, this time in English, the familiar sounds making Mihail’s mind snap out of its daze.

  “What?” His voice trembled as he spoke.

  Stones gathered around the sides of the man’s feet as he was pushed back. “Get the goddamn door!”

  Shock had turned Mihail’s legs numb, making him trip as he crawled his way onto his feet. The untreated wood of the door was under his hands before his brain caught up with his movements.

  “Now!” the man demanded.

  Mihail pushed, rolling the door closer to the man who instantly reached for it. The monster seized upon the moment of distraction. With an earsplitting screech, it snapped its head down and clamped onto the man’s shoulder. Blood gushed from under the creature’s teeth. Mihail’s chest squeezed as the man screamed. Abandoning the door, he began to hit the monster with bone cracking strength. Tightening his grip on the door, Mihail surged forward, forcing the door closed. The spider limbs squirmed wildly, reluctantly falling back into the darkness as the opening sealed shut. The man’s shoulder slammed into the monster, forcing himself deeper into the mouth, choking it with his own body. The monster hesitated for only an instant, but that was all he needed. One final strike and he ripped himself from the gaping jaws, severing his flesh as he did. Mihail kept running. Distorted screams shattered the air as the monster retreated, drawing its legs in before they could be crushed.

  The instant the wood smacked shut, the stranger slipped an iron pin onto the place. Mihail couldn’t believe his eyes. The lock looked ridiculous. Far too small and thin. He doubted it could fight against a stiff breeze let alone keep this living monstrosity contained. Before he could find the words to protest, the man reached over, balled his hands in Mihail’s sweater, and shoved him up against the wall. Panic ripped through him like wildfire. Knowing that only a few slips of wood separated him from the beast drove him into madness, and he lashed out. The battle was short lived. With one mammoth hand, the man collected both of Mihail’s wrists and pinned them above his head. Splinters dug into his skin as he tried to kick the stranger off.

  “Did it touch ya?” Deep and heavy, the stranger spoke with more of a growl than a voice.

  “Let me go!”

  Ignoring the plea, the man yanked down Mihail’s sleeves and examined the exposed skin.

  “Did you touch anything?” The man clapped a hand around Mihail’s jaw and forced him to meet his piercing gaze. “Did it touch ya?”

  “No!”

  “Not a scratch? A bump? Nothin’?”

  Ripping his face from the man’s hand, he shook his head and repeated his answer. He could almost feel the monster stalking across the other side of the wall. Waiting for it to crash through and grab him. In his struggles, the coppery stench of blood was drawn deep into his nose. It made his stomach lurch. Acid burned the back of his throat as he gagged. The man noticed instantly.

  “Are ya gonna hurl?”

  Mihail tried to calm his stomach, but he could see the blood gushing from the man’s wounds. Feel it soaking into his shirt while the man pressed close. Smelled it enough that he was sure it was drenched over his tongue. He wretched. The man’s hand adjusted over his jaw and dragged him closer.

  “Do not puke on me.”

  The contents of his stomach heaved.

  “Smile,” the man commanded.

  Mihail didn’t even try to understand, he just did as he was told. The stranger followed suit, his lips pulling back to flash pearly white teeth. But it was his canines that drew attention. Both the ones on his upper and lower jaws were engorged into large, sharpened points. It gave a predatory edge to his appearance.

  “Better?” Speaking calmly for the first time, his Scottish accent was more pronounced, and Mihail struggled to understand why he hadn’t noticed it before.

  “Why am I doing this?” Mihail asked.

  “It’s harder to puke when you’re smiling. It stifles the gag reflex.”

  Mihail nodded as much as the hand on his jaw would allow. Unfortunately, this brought his attention back to the layer of blood claiming the man’s torso. The contents of his stomach sloshed and forced his smile to widen. It helped a little.

  “Just breathe. Think about somethin’ else. Somethin’ good. What do ya like?”

  “Plants.”

  The man blinked, “Seriously?”

  “And flowers.” The clench of his teeth distorted his words.

  “Okay,” he said quickly as he released his grip and allowed Mihail to slide to the ground. His legs didn’t want to carry his weight and, if it weren’t for the stranger’s quick reflexes, he would have crumbled to the ground. “Flowers, okay, I can work with that. Just breathe. And if ya gotta hurl, don’t do it on me.”

  Chapter 8

  A spike of pain made Mihail snap his head around. Nothing was as he had remembered it. Instead of barren stone and darkness, there was a long slope of thick grass and wildflowers. The points of white matched the pristine snow that clung to the mountains, while the purple petals were vibrant in the blinding sunlight. Evening was approaching, but not close enough yet to tarnish the brilliant blue of the sky. Birds chirped and small animals scattered unseen throughout the grass.

  Blinking like he had just emerged from a deep sleep, Mihail struggled to understand what was happening. Vague memories of ghosts and monsters pulsed through his mind, but he couldn’t latch onto any of it. And he couldn’t understand why the massive man was now sitting beside him, cupping his injured wrist and poking gently at his
cut.

  “What are you doing?”

  The man didn’t pause as he flicked his eyes up to meet Mihail’s, a small smile on his lips. “Ya back, huh?”

  “Back?” Mihail snapped with an edge of panic. “What do you mean back? Where did I go?”

  The man looped his hand in the air, pointing to everything and nothing. The scalpel taped between his fingers captured the light.

  “Where ever ya mind decided to take ya.”

  “I don’t understand.” He tried to yank his arm back but couldn’t break free from the man’s grip. “Why do you have that? Is that blood? My blood?”

  Crimson liquid oozed along his fingertips and dripped onto the grass. His heart started to throb at a rapid pace.

  “Why am I bleeding? What’s going on?”

  “Stop,” the man said, his voice peaceful but strong. “Deep breath.”

  Mihail clamped his jaw shut and drew in a breath. There wasn’t much else he could do. The man’s biceps were thicker than his neck. Of all the haze in his head, he could still recall how easily the man had thrown him. And that he had done it with only one hand.

  “Better?” the man asked.

  Mihail nodded.

  “Good. Let’s start easy, yeah? I’m Abe Claymont.”

  “Mihail Vaduva,” he said quickly. “Pleasure to meet you. Now, where did I go?”

  One corner of Abe’s mouth tipped into a half smile. “Ya checked out. Ya know, mentally. Lights on but no one home.”

  Mihail flushed through his face as he cringed away. “What?”

  “Ya ain’t got to be embarrassed. It’s a natural reaction to fear.”

  “Do you mean flight or fight?”

  “Or freeze,” Abe noted as he went back to his work, gently running the tip of the scalpel along Mihail’s injured palm. “Everyone forgets about freeze.”