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I shrug unrepentantly and grin. “Let’s be honest, I’m pretty much here as an expensive tool he has a limited time, one night, use of. I hope his magic does something worthwhile for him for what he’s paying me, but the fact that his deposit cleared my account is all that really matters to me. Well—that and the fact I will walk out unharmed,” I add when a look of horror comes over his face. I laugh and shake my head. “Do you really think that I would show up if I hadn’t checked this out with Mercy first? She assured me that it’s the easiest money that I will make, and I literally have to do nothing, but make myself available for a few hours. It will only use a small amount of my own magic in reaction to being a conduit for his work. I guess that would make my role something like a medium?”
Damon scoffs and gives me a sidelong look. “What do you know of being a medium? That isn’t where your skills and talents lie.”
“Whelp, in this case I really don’t have to know or do anything except look cute, I suppose.” I’m about to draw my purse strap over my shoulder to take it with me but have second thoughts. “I’m going to leave this in here with you.”
“I still don’t like it,” Damon mutters, but he at least doesn’t appear to be resisting as hard as he squints up at the building. “At least take your phone in case you need me to bail you out. I would rather not just be sitting here waiting for a scream.”
“Oh, all right,” I concede, removing my phone. I tuck it into my pocket as I climb out of the car and set my purse in my seat. “It should only be a couple of hours, I think. I hope you brought something to entertain you.”
He holds up his phone. “I have over three hundred books downloaded on this thing and four different games. I will be fine. Just... stay safe, Cleo.”
I nod and shut the door. Stepping away from the car, I face the house. It’s stately appearance screams money, and it should have inspired thoughts of drinking mimosas on a hot summer day while the cicadas scream their fool heads off, but instead, it sends a chill up my spine. I can’t put a finger on what exactly is making it so creepy. It’s not just the color. Maybe it’s the fact that for a grand-looking house there is only one low light coming from one of the downstairs windows and little else to show that there is any sign of life. But then again—it is the middle of the night. Perhaps it is because it’s the night before Halloween and there isn’t even a cheerful smile of a jack-o’-lantern to greet me. That it will be technically Halloween at midnight, leaving me wide open and vulnerable to anything moving within the dark doesn’t help. I’m not chickening out or anything, but it does make me pause as I stare up at the old, looming structure before defiantly marching toward the door.
It's spooky, but I’m as much of a realist as I am a witch. I’m not going to lose thousands just because the owner doesn’t do the proper seasonal observances. If the complete darkness has me a little on edge, I can live with it for as long as it takes me to do what’s required, get paid, and get out of there.
There’s a little gravel path that goes from the drive to the porch. I quickly make my way up it and walk across the porch toward the door, my footsteps echoing faintly as I pass over it. The back of my neck prickles because the echo makes me feel as if there is someone walking directly behind me even though I know that there is not, but that knowledge is not enough to keep me from startling when the door suddenly opens in front of me. My hand flies to my throat as I gasp for a breath even as I fight back an instinctive scream. I’m glad I do because Anthony Blackspell is standing there with a candelabra in one hand and a polite, welcoming smile on his thin, aristocratic face.
“Ms. Taylor, I’m so pleased to see that you made it without incident. And so prompt! It is much appreciated,” he murmurs as he steps aside, allowing me to step through the door.
“Of course,” I reply, not the least bit as confident as I sound as my eyes scroll over the darkened interior. It’s as elegant and timeless as I would have imagined from the exterior, though the absence of all other lights is unnerving. A laugh nervously and give him a curious glance. “Electrical issues?”
His lips curl in an apologetic smile and he shakes his head. “Ah, no. I guess you can just say that I’m feeling a bit theatrical tonight. The ritual room is already prepared, and I didn’t wish to spoil the atmosphere’s mood. Right this way. It’s not far.”
“So haunted is a look you were trying to go for?” I joke as I follow him through the house.
“I suppose it was, at that,” he replies and chuckles as he glances back at me. “I hope you aren’t one of those females who are easily frightened.”
I give him a strained smile, willing to overlook the pure assholery in his turn of phrase as I make a show of skeptically looking around myself. “I wouldn’t say that I’m easy to frighten. I’m here, aren’t I? It’s just a little much, I guess. But very Halloweeny in a non-decorative, absolutely creepy without trying, kind of way,” I add in a low voice as my gaze flicks along some of the particularly darkly shrouded halls and rooms we pass.
From what little I can see, the house is obviously beautiful with classy newer pieces blending into the old historic style that is common to find in any of the houses on the historical society list. I wonder if his house is registered or if he just keeps it that way. The thought is random but it’s a good distraction because I absolutely refuse to believe that I see anything at all moving within the shadows. It’s pretty obvious that Damon’s words got to me more than I thought that they would, which is frustrating as hell.
I’m just going to have to murder my dear friend for feeding my obnoxious doom imagination with his nonsense when I’m done.
“Yes, you’re most definitely here. I knew you were a lady of admirable constitution for such things the moment I set eyes on you,” he agrees. “I think, by the time we are done, you will be able to truly appreciate all the work that I’ve done.”
I’m pretty sure I won’t but, since I’ve been paid, I keep that to myself. I’m not here to be entertained or impressed. I’m just here to do my job and get the fuck out of here, especially as the corridors become darker and more oppressive. I’m definitely clinging to that faint circle of light provided by the candelabra.
Maybe this was a bad idea. I could be home right now binge-eating peanut butter cups and watching horror movies to kickstart my Halloween. All with the cheerful grins of my jack-o’-lanterns grinning at me through the living room window from their spot on the porch. This just all kinds of sucks in comparison and I’m debating on following Damon’s advice and calling this whole thing off and refunding the money when we suddenly step inside a large room, its heavy curtains drawn over the windows and lit up by numerous strategically placed candles. There is a large, very human-sized altar sitting in the middle of an enormous circle that takes up most of the center of the room. It has several other complex magical diagrams chalked around it that lead to another smaller circle encircled twice by unfamiliar sigils.
Was that where he was to stand? Why is it so much smaller than the large circle around the altar? What exactly is the large circle for?
I shiver runs through me at how ominous that feels. It doesn’t help that everywhere I look gold, black, and red draped over nearly every surface. Black cloth embroidered with red symbols on the altar gives way to gold candlesticks set all around it, each bearing candles made from black wax. That normally wouldn’t bother me since I utilize plenty of black candles myself and black décor within my own workspace but for some reason it’s making my skin crawl.
I blink as my gaze fixes at the corners of the altar. Are those... manacles and chains attached to the altar. Oh, hell no!
I give the room a wary look as I slowly back up a step and turn to face Mr. Blackspell. “You know—I’m not sure if this is a good idea,” I begin, but he shushes me and places his hand against my back in a comforting gesture.
“Shh, don’t worry. There’s nothing for you to be afraid of.”
“You want to chain me to the altar,” I point out with a nervous ‘I don’t think so’ laugh and he grins in response.
“Oh, that? Think nothing of it. Trust me, that’s more for your safety. You will be happy to have those chains when the time comes.” He suddenly beams down at me and grabs my forearm in a punishingly tight grip. “Well, let’s get you into position,” he says as he begins to walk me forward toward the altar.
Not being a complete idiot, I twist my body from side to side in an attempt to break his grip because I’m definitely not climbing on that thing now if I can help it. I’m horrified to see that he doesn’t even notice my struggle as he effortlessly lifts me off of my feet and carries me over those carefully drawn lines.
“Da—” I scream and am promptly muted by bitter-tasting fabric shoved into my mouth.
“I’m really disappointed Ms. Taylor,” he tuts as he firmly lowers me onto the altar, snapping a manacle around one wrist, and then the other as he speaks. “I’ve paid you very well for this and thought you to be of a more sensible leaning. I thought you would at very least appreciate the artistry and dedication that has gone into this. I told you that this magic is very important. I simply cannot afford to stop now. Just try to relax and this will be all over before you know it,” he croons as he manages to grab ahold of one of my flailing feet and secures it before doing the same to the other.
