2
The Everett House was barely a house, and it was barely a hut, either. It was a log cabin, except that the logs were so badly weathered. The windows were grimy, the shingles hanging on for dear life like rows of loose teeth.
In the dark, it was hard to tell if the exterior was crusted in moss or some other, more nefarious substance. Black mold, maybe? A sentient, flesh-eating fungus? At least then it would kill us, with any luck. At least then we’d only have to stay one night.
I would have much preferred to be dead – really dead, this time – than have to stay there, is my point. But we were given our job, and this flammable box was HQ, at least for the time being. Yet my mind had made itself up. I wasn’t going to enjoy a single minute being anywhere near the Everett House.
“This place is a fucking dump,” I grumbled, hauling my three designer suitcases up what might once have been a cobbled pathway. Now it was just a scattered jumble of muddy rocks.
Gil carried his duffle bag over his shoulder and lumbered after me. He shook his head, staring pointedly between me and my suitcases. Asher, tugging on the straps of his backpack, wasn’t as subtle.
“Why did you pack three roller bags worth of shit? We’re not moving here. This isn’t a bed and breakfast. And even then – three whole suitcases?”
“Stop sassing me,” I snapped. “It’s called fashion, and caring about yourself. Just because I’m dead doesn’t mean I should stop moisturizing.”
“It’s the same leather jacket and pants every time,” Gil mumbled.
“Except when it’s black skinny jeans instead,” Asher whispered back.
“Jerks,” I grunted, fumbling in a front pocket for a slender white envelope.
I ripped it open, forcing the ancient key into its equally ancient hole in a front door that looked like a home to demon termites. The lock turned, miraculously without the entire cabin crumbling down around it. I pushed the door open, expecting to unleash horrors rivaled only by the co
ntents of Pandora’s box. Instead we were greeted by creaking hinges, musty air, and furniture hewn out of the same logs that gave the cabin its structure.
My lips drew back, but I held my tongue. Gil went through the threshold first, shoulder-checking me as he passed.
“Quit being such a diva. It’s really not that – oh, holy shit, it smells like mothballs in here.”
Asher wrinkled his nose. “Not mothballs. It just smells old. I think I see cobwebs. Do we get black widows out here? Brown recluses? You guys are resistant to poison. Me, not so much.”
Gil hit a power switch somewhere, the house filling with the subtlest whir and hum as the lights came on. It was worse in the light. Moldering sheets covered what little furniture was available. And those were definitely cobwebs. Huge ones.
“If there’s a brown recluse living here, it’s probably the size of your head,” I grumbled, the floorboards squeaking and rattling as I rolled my suitcases in. A rug that might have been from the dawn of time ripped as I stepped on it. “I thought the owner said this was a fixer-upper, not a proper mausoleum. And did we really buy this place?”
Gil poked his head around from what appeared to be the kitchen area. “You know how it is. In Carver’s mind it’s much easier to straight up buy the place. As if money means anything to him. The owner was falling all over herself. Said she’d drop by tomorrow to check on things.”
I gnawed on the inside of my cheek. Maybe I’d make her my first meal. And of course Carver didn’t bother considering a different payment setup. Our employer and shared mentor had deep pockets and little patience, a confusing contradiction. You’d think he’d have developed more prudence, being that he was several hundred years old, but not getting his way immediately was a quick path to making him grumpy. And a grumpy Carver was much more likely to fling fireballs at a moment’s notice. Not fun for anyone.
I sighed in resignation, leaving my bags by the door. “I guess we’re just going to have to make the most of this.” I vaulted over a rickety coffee table, aiming for a soft landing on the couch. I got my soft landing, and a large puff of dust along with it.
“Holy crap,” I sputtered, coughing. “This is – right, I tried, no, no. We can’t stay here. How long has it been since anyone lived here?”
Gil drew a line in the coffee table with his finger, grimacing at the dirt. “Better question would be to ask when someone last died here.”
“I could check,” Asher offered helpfully.
“Don’t bother. We’re out. I told you guys, I would happily plunk down for a hotel. My treat. Money’s no issue. But no. You bozos had to insist on staying in the house where every horror movie in the world ever has happened. Best case scenario, Asher wakes up with a knife in his back.”
Asher gasped.
Gil pushed his hands into his hips, putting his foot down. “Nobody said that this was going to be a weekend in the woods, Sterling. It’s not a vacation.” Somehow he managed to sound like both my long-dead mother and father at the same time. “We’re here for work. The whole point of taking this cabin was so we could do it all remotely, but all you’ve done since we got to Silveropolis is draw attention to yourself.”
I shrugged off my jacket, the leather squeaking to demonstrate my defiance, then used it to beat the rest of the dust out of the cushions. Asher covered his mouth, coughing, and headed for the open door, the only source of fresh air around.
“Ridiculous name, too,” I said. “Silveropolis. And kind of offensive.”
Asher held up his phone, leaning against the doorframe so he wouldn’t have to inhale dust. “Silver deposits. Couple of hundred years back, there were silver mines in the mountains nearby. There’s gold up in them thar hills. Hah. Except, you know, silver. And besides, this isn’t an argument about what you are and aren’t weak to. Which, just to clarify?”