Blood Music

In addition, my ex still had a nasty habit of coming around to try to spy on me. He couldn’t give up that nasty control streak and I was ready to bust his head, too. It was only through great restraint that I hadn’t cast a hex on him. A few focused words and a flick of my hand and I knew I could get him fired. Or better yet, wither up his dick. Preferably while it was inside one of his many girlfriends he had cheated on me with.

“What the hell should I do? I can sell this place, but I haven’t the faintest idea of where I want to go. I feel at all sorts of loose ends right now.” I glanced over at Sandy, my partner in crime. Or at least, magic and partying. We were coven-mates, and right now we were brewing up our fourth batch of margaritas. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to debate serious questions when we were half-drunk, but then again, I’ve never actually been accused of being wise.

Smart? Sure. Wise? Not so much.

“Maudlin, you’re just smart enough to get yourself in trouble, and not wise enough to see why you shouldn’t,” my mother always told me. I would have taken offense but from the get-go, I knew she was right.

Sandy snorted. “Why don’t you rub Bubba’s belly and make a wish?”

I paused in my margarita-making venture. “You really think that’s a good idea?”

“I know, but hey…you’re drunk. I’m drunk. Bubba loves you too much to take advantage of you in this state.”

“Well, he does love me.”

What Sandy said made a certain amount of sense, at least through my alcohol-washed brain. Bubba was my friend. Next to Sandy, he was my best buddy. He loved me and I loved him. She was right—he wouldn’t take advantage of me, not when I was three sheets to the wind.

“Why not give it a try?” I leaned over the cat, who had already flopped on his back, exposing his massive fluffball of a stomach. “Oh, Bubba. Be sweet to me.” I tickled his belly. “Help me shake off the dust I’ve acc…acc…” I paused, trying to remember the word. Finally I finished with, “I’ve managed to drown in over the years. I need to feel like myself again. Give me adventure. Romance. Something…different.”

Bubba let out a purp and a spark raced over my fingertips as I rubbed his fur. I closed my eyes, laughing as the sparkles tickled my skin. But they abruptly stopped and—apparently bored—Bubba raced off into the other room.

I went back to making drinks. “I think he took pity on me and ignored my request.”

“You’re better off. Dunno why you thought that was a good idea. I’d never ask him for anything.” Sandy was glued to the computer screen.

“What? Girl, you’re the one who told me to do it.”

“And you listened to me? I’m drunk. Never listen to a drunken witch. Hey—what about this?”

Sandy forced herself to sit up straight. She was slumped over her laptop, staring at the screen. We had been watching videos of a group of half-naked dancers—Australian men hot enough to burn tongues if we’d been close enough to give them a lick. But now, she had apparently navigated away to what looked like a click-bait site. Seattle’s scariest houses or something of that sort.

“What about what, and do you want another drink?”

“That’s a stupid question, and what about this?” She tapped on the screen. I leaned forward and found myself looking at a picture of a decaying mansion instead of a pair of oil-slathered abs and thighs.

“Why am I staring at a decrepit old house?”

“Because it’s in Bedlam. We could be neighbors! I pass this house every day, but I didn’t know it was up for sale.”

Bedlam was a small island out in the San Juan Islands, near Lopez and Orcas, located in Haro Strait, on the United States side rather than the Canadian side. Bedlam was also the home to all the local elite of the PretCom—the preternatural community. Sandy had been trying to get me to move there for months, ever since I had broken up with Craig, but I had resisted. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea. I just felt there was something missing from my life…from me. My spirit of adventure had vanished during the years I had spent with my emotionally abusive ex-husband.

I frowned, leaning forward to take a closer look. “Reminds me of the house on The Munsters.”

“The mansion is for sale. It’s a far cry from this sterile condo with the tight-ass rules you’re always bitching about. Why are you staying here? Your life with Craig is done—you don’t even like the friends you made together. Add to which, they’re all his friends. He got you fired from your job. There’s nothing tying you to the city.”

She hiccupped and I handed her another margarita.

“Think about it. You like to work with your hands. This is a steal—real estate prices are insane, but you could buy this easily if you sell the condo. There would be plenty left over to fix it up. The house was gorgeous once. It would give you something to do, and when you finish, you’ll have a palace fit for our coven. And best yet, you’ll be near your best friend.”

I stared at the picture. There was something appealing about the house. It looked…lonely. Like it needed love. And I could think of one other added bonus.

“If Craig finds out I sold this place and and plunged the proceeds into a house like that, it would gnaw a hole in his chicken-liver gut. He’d be furious.”

The thought of driving him into a fury appealed to me. He had emotionally beaten me down for years. For some reason, I had taken it, at least until the last day, when he pushed me one step too far and I broke out of my apathy. I had burned a hole right through his precious briefcase, melting the leather with one very-pissed-off wave of my finger. That it had been in front of his cock had been a plus. Scared him so much he ran out and hired a lawyer that day.

“He’d be so pissed, and too terrified to say a word.” Sandy was egging me on for all she was worth. I’d had to stop her from throwing a whammy on Craig when she found out what he had done to me.

“You know, that alone might be worth it.” As I stared at the picture, I realized Sandy made several good points. Through the tequila-colored glasses I was wearing, I could see totally decking the place out. I could create a beautiful, Victorian home that would be perfect for parties with the best of Bedlam.

Giggling, I said, “Craig would shit a brick, wouldn’t he? It would be better than any hex I could throw on him. Especially since there’s nothing I can ever do to get the past eight years of my life back.” A sudden wave of sadness swept over me. “How did I lose myself? How did I go from Maddy, the Mad Wonder, to a woman who knuckled under every time he let out a dissatisfied grunt?”

I tilted my head, staring at the photo. For a fraction of a second, I thought I saw something move in one of the windows, but that had to be the tequila talking.

Sandy nodded, her smile gone. “He would, indeed, and so would all his upper-crust lawyer friends. Craig doesn’t deserve the energy it would take to cast a hex on him. He’s pigeon food. But honey, this would be as good for you as it would be devastating to him. Living well is the best revenge, remember.”

With my mind’s eye suddenly filled with visions of Craig throwing a temper tantrum and being unable to do one damned thing about it, I slapped the table. “By gods, I’m going to do it. I’m going to buy myself a mansion!” Before I could change my mind, I reached for the phone and called Bjorn, a fox-shifter who was both a real estate agent and another member of our coven.

***

By early light—way too early, given the bender the night before—I eased into the graveled drive in front of the mansion. The ferry ride through the San Juans had been choppy. The wind had been whipping something fierce, and my stomach wasn’t all that convinced the trip was a good idea.

Now that I was sober and doing my best to caffeinate myself with a quint-shot mocha, I was prone to agree with my stomach. It wasn’t the idea of moving to Bedlam that made me question myself, but rather, the thought of buying this particular rat’s nest. And yet…and yet, there was something about the house that made me want to hug it, to pat its head and bring it back to life.

As I stared up at the house, something tingled in the back of my brain. I was picking up on something—though I had no clue what. It wasn’t witchcraft, that much I knew, but it was something belonging to the PretCom and it felt familiar—like a song I once knew but had forgotten.

On the passenger seat, Bubba hunkered down in his carrier. He looked like any ordinary cat. Well, any fifteen-pound fluffball red boy with a cowlick on the top of his head. He did a good job of passing. Most people wouldn’t have the faintest clue he was a cjinn by just looking at him. He liked to take trips with me, and I always made sure to consult him whenever I checked out a new place.

“Bubba, you behave while we’re in there. If I let you out, you’d better not run off. I want to ask you some questions when we get a chance to talk. And trust me, this time you are going to tell me the truth.”

Bubba liked to make out that he never led me astray, but the facts proved different.

Buy the leopard print pants, he said. They look great on you. I agree—your hair would be better off bleached blond  á la Bridget Bardot circa mid-1960s. Don’t worry about telling Craig you’re a witch—he won’t mind at all. Yes, Bubba liked his practical jokes, and they were usually aimed at me.

Bubba stared at me then rolled over, exposing his belly in a come-hither gesture. His eyes were glinting, and he wriggled on his back, but I knew better.

“Oh no, I’m not falling for that one. I’m not opening the carrier and I’m not rubbing your belly, so forget it, Bub. Maybe later, when you’re not spoiling for some fun.”

He let out a little huff and rolled back over, resting his head on his paws.

I slowly got out of the car, staring up at the mansion. It could almost pass for a small castle. Reminiscent of some fading southern plantation covered with ivy and grime, half the windows looked like they had been broken out.

“What the hell was I thinking?” I whispered. But I was saved the trouble of giving myself an answer as Bjorn drove up. Bjorn drove a Jaguar, because he could. Bjorn wore designer suits, because he could. Bjorn the fox-shifter was a snobbish, elitist friend who had a heart of gold hidden beneath that flippant, bitchy exterior.

He jumped out, wearing all white. Apparently he’d either just come from a tennis game, or he was bent on bucking the no-white-after-Labor-Day rule. As he headed over to greet me, Sandy pulled up in her van. She had decked out her retro hippie-mobile to the max, upgrading and retrofitting it to turn it into some eco-green machine that only looked like it came from the circa-beatnik era.

“Sorry I’m late,” she said, emerging from the driver’s side. She was wearing a floppy straw hat and sunglasses, and carrying a tote bag over her arm that was as big as a backpack. Sandy might look the ditzy blonde, but she was a street-smart cookie and one hell of an experienced witch, although her magic wasn’t as strong as mine.

“Maddy, you made it. Good. I was afraid you’d bail on the idea once you woke up sober.”

“I’m thinking of bailing now,” I said, staring up at the behemoth that faced me down. “What the hell were we thinking?”

“The same thing I’m still thinking this morning. This place is falling apart, it’s old and creaky, but it has a hell of a lot more charm than your condo. You need to get out of Seattle, and Bedlam is the perfect place. You’d be close to the coven here, and away from the gridlock and mess of the city. And…you’d be out of Craig’s reach. It would be a lot harder for him just to drop in to spy on you if your condo wasn’t on the way home from his office building.”

She was right on all counts. I glanced over at Bjorn, who was leaning against his car.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re crackers. But if anybody can bring this old mansion back to life, it’s you.”

I bit my lip, uncertain. Finally, I shrugged and grabbed Bubba’s carrier out of the car. “Okay, show us what’s here. I’ve come all this way. I might as well see the place.”

***

One month later, I moved in. Bubba had been a little iffy, but he hadn’t put up much of a fight. Between his complacency and the thought of being out of Craig’s reach, I couldn’t resist. Though I put off telling Craig that I had sold the condo until I had moved out and handed over the keys to the new owner. It had sold the first day on the market. A little for-sale magic ensured a quick turnaround.

Only after I was on the ferry did I call him to let him know.

Craig had, as predicted, gone ballistic, but I didn’t care. In fact, his shouts were music to my ears. I conveniently conjured a little static and zapped the conversation when he started really rolling with the insults. That was the last time I intended on ever talking to him.

All the way across the Sound and up into the straits, I thought about my new home.

The inspection had showed that the façade of the old mansion was falling apart, but the bones were still good. During the time between signing the contract and moving in, I had contracted with Alpha-Pack, a group of werewolves on the island, to update the plumbing and wiring. I’d be moving in to six fully working bathrooms and a decked-out laundry room. There was some comfort in knowing that I wouldn’t burn to death in an electrical fire. Granted, there hadn’t been time to update any of the fixtures, except for having new toilets and sinks installed in the bathrooms, but the rest would come.

Sandy was at work the morning I took possession of the house, so I arrived on my own. The moving men had already unloaded my furniture and boxes, and all I had left to do was walk through the front door. Bubba still grumbling, but since he wasn’t the one who paid the bills, I vetoed his suggestions that we might as well move into a trailer park. He wasn’t bitching too loud, so I knew he was doing it just because he didn’t want to admit this might be a good idea.

“You’re a snob,” I told him.

“Mrow….” Bubba glared at me. He might be speaking in cat, but I knew full well what he had said.

“Well, that’s nice. You lick your butt with that mouth, remember.” I picked up the cat carrier and headed toward the door. “Just think, in six months this place will be a grand showplace. We’ve got three acres of land, and fifteen rooms to play in. You can have your own retreat for when you aren’t feeling sociable, which is most of the time.”

Bubba hiccupped and gave me the stink-eye, but I also knew that I had hit on a sweet spot. He was always complaining about how small the condo was. Now, there was no way he could object. He let out a low rumble, then hacked up a little hairball into the corner of the carrier. Curling up, he closed his eyes.

“Yeah, like all men, you refuse to admit when you’re beaten.” I dashed up the stairs just as a bolt of lightning flashed through the air and the clouds opened up. Quickly fitting the key in the lock, I opened the door and ducked inside just ahead of the thunder and rain.

The mansion had intrigued me from the start. Even though it had sat empty for so long, it still felt alive. I glanced around and flipped the switch to the right of the door. As the hall flooded with light, I thought I heard a welcoming “Ahhh…” as though the house had suddenly woken up and went, “Wow, I have company!”

I moved into the living room. The place was clean, at least. I had hired a housekeeping service to come in and spend a full day polishing the place from top to bottom. It had required two teams to manage it, but they had dusted and polished and washed down the counters and walls and rubbed away the years of grime and age that had accumulated.

My furniture was waiting, though as I looked around I realized none of it was in place. I had specified to the movers on how to arrange it, so it looked like I’d need to call the company and demand a partial refund. In fact, the room looked downright haphazard, with furniture and boxes shoved willy-nilly into it.

“Wonderful,” I muttered aloud. “That’s going to be a job.”

I dropped my purse on the sofa along with my tote bag and set the cat carrier down. First things first. I needed to set up Bubba’s litter box and get his food and water ready. I had decided to lock him in the pantry for the day, then take him up to my room for the night. Bubba might be a cjinn, but he had enough feline instinct to get himself in trouble. I didn’t want him getting lost in the cavernous house before I had a chance to make certain there was nothing that would hurt him.

“Right. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

Bubba let out a little purp that could have been anything from “Right on” to “I’m hungry.”

I headed out to the car and carried in the new litter box and food, then made a second trip for the cat litter. Two twenty-five pound bags of the stuff later, I was already worn out. After I dragged everything into the kitchen, I sat down and heaved a sigh of relief. I had managed this much. I could get through the rest of the day. Sandy was due at around six with takeout and to help me with more of the unpacking.

Once I set Bubba up in the pantry, I tackled the furniture, rearranging it until my back felt like it was going to break. A brief rest and two bottles of water later, I began to unpack the kitchen.

By four-fifteen, it was dark out. I was putting away the last of the pans when I happened to glance at the door leading to the basement.

It was open.

What the hell? I hadn’t gone down there yet, let alone leave the door ajar. When I first entered the kitchen, I distinctly remembered it had been closed. So what was going on? Was there somebody in the house with me?  Had some transient gotten in?

The only weapon I had at hand was my magic, but I didn’t want to bet on it right now. It took time and energy to prep most spells, and I was already worn out from the day’s organizing. I grabbed a cleaver from my knife block. Making certain the pantry door was firmly closed—the last thing I wanted was for Bubba to get loose, though he could probably fend for himself better than I could—I edged over to the basement door.

I pushed it open, wincing as the hinges let out a grating creak. Wonderful. I’d probably have to oil every door in the house. A glance down into the basement told me it was dark down there, all right. Dark as night. Dark as jet. Wondering if I should get a flashlight or risk turning on the light, I finally opted for the latter. Sure, it would give fair warning to anybody who might be hiding down there, but it would also provide me with a better view of what I was facing.

As light flooded the stairs, I grimaced. The entire stairwell was covered with spiderwebs. The cleaning crew had neglected my instructions on cleaning from top to bottom, apparently. Another phone call on my growing list.

Back to the spiderwebs. I had no beef with spiders, as long as they understood my terms. Namely, they keep to the corners or stay outside and I wouldn’t smash them flat. But I hadn’t had time to bargain with the eight-legged bozos here yet.

A glance around the kitchen netted me a broom that had been left in one of the corners.

Armed with the cleaver in one hand, the broom in the other, I began to edge down the stairs, one at a time. Each step I tested gently, praying it would hold. I had seen too many movies where the victim had broken through the steps only to get trapped by the monster in the basement. There was a makeshift railing, but to use it I’d need a third hand. Even if I had one, the railing didn’t look all that steady.

Luck was with me, though. One step felt like it might give way, but the others held firm. As I slowly descended into the cavernous basement, I swept away the webs, cursing the cleaners under my breath.

“Last time I use their services,” I muttered, trying to muster my courage as I stepped into the main chamber of the basement.

It was filled with trunks and boxes overflowing with junk. Some of it looked to be decades old. Furniture had been shoved into the corners, lining the walls—old armoires and chairs and tables. Hmm, maybe I could make use of this somehow. An antique treasure trove might lead to a whole new source of income if I wanted to go the flea market or Hex-Sale route.

A sudden noise to my right startled me and I whirled toward the back wall. From here I could see a door. A closet, maybe? Another room? Skirting a pile of boxes, I approached. I hadn’t bothered to ask about the basement. Bjorn had assured me there was no water damage or mold, and that had been enough for me. I had no clue there were two rooms down here. Maybe it was the furnace room. But I knew the furnace was in the far corner of the main chamber, so that couldn’t be it.

“Who’s there? Is anybody there?” Feeling ludicrous—if there was an intruder, he wasn’t going to come out and introduce himself—I laid the broom across a table and edged forward. Maybe I’d get lucky and find rats or a stray cat or something.

No answer. Not that I’d expected one.

One more step and I stood in front of the door. As I stared at the doorknob, I thought I saw it turn. I waited. Nothing. Certain my imagination was running away with me, I reached out and gave the knob a turn, then opened the door.

Inside, I found a small alcove. And in the center of the alcove, propped on a couple of sawhorses, rested a coffin.