Gods & Ghosts Collection

Chapter 6

Jonah had had enough. Superstar McRayne was allowed to go to bed, so he excused himself.

Jonathan and Cyrus looked as though they’d speak for hours, so his departure was seamless. Reena was in pragmatist mode. She could be the voice of reason here. There was no point in a conversation with Terrence because he was too enamored to be of much use at the moment. Looked like Jonah was on his own for this one.

How dare McRayne condescend? How dare she say “Leave it to the professionals?”

The estate was their zone. This wasn’t a damn Hollywood studio where fantasy became reality courtesy of lights, makeup, and clockwork. What the hell did she know about fighting?

As a writer, he had to give her credit. Her story was superb. Her producer was now a Skinwalker slave to Hera and wanted to kill her.

It was definitely original. But Terrence had already said that that Lancaster dude was in Beverly Hills, mooching off of a billionaire heiress. What man in his right mind would be thinking about murder when he had it like that?

Eva had storytelling down. Her little sleight of hand with the sword? Cute. The hallmark of a bona fide Hollywood illusionist. But when you got down to the root of it? Eva McRayne was indeed a superstar.

A superstar b***h.

Jonah had taken a spiritual endowment before they’d used the Astralimes to get to Raleigh. He didn’t know how vigilant he’d have to be with the celebrities around, but Joey was cool, and Cyrus seemed too reserved to be an asshole. But Eva?

Whatever.

One week, Jonah, He thought to himself. You tolerated Essa, Langton, and Bane for months. You can deal with the diva medium for a week.

One week, JonahYou tolerated Essa, Langton, and Bane for months. You can deal with the diva medium for a week.He could do it. He’d been through worse. Seven days. Seven little sunsets, and Superstar would be gone, and life would be uneventful once again. With that satisfied thought, he fell asleep.

He was standing on the lushest lawn he’d ever seen. It was like Superbowl grass, and even better than the grounds at the estate, and that was saying something.

But the lawn was nothing compared to the house.

It was huge, and done in the style of Frank Lloyd Wright. That was the only style he knew and enjoyed, so he knew it when he saw it. A sudden weight in his pocket caught his attention, and he reached there.

They were keys.

Jonah stared at them. They hadn’t been there before. Had they? So this house was—

“Yours, darling,” said a smoky voice.

Jonah actually jumped. There was a woman on the porch whose smile was disarming as hell. She had a perfect figure. On a scale of one to ten, she was a two hundred fifty. Her attire was simple, but daunting. A snow-white top that left little to the imagination, and a skirt that was so short it should have been criminal. How could Jonah have not noticed her before?

“Um…” murmured Jonah, “who are you?”

“I’m whoever you want me to be.” The woman descended the steps, chuckling as she did so. “I’m yours, just like this house.”

Then it all came back to Jonah. Had he forgotten things that quickly? He’d written a five-book steampunk series that had struck gold. The books were a resounding success. It was like he could do no wrong. No one could explain how his books had been such runaway hits. He’d negotiated a book deal for an amount of money so high that it could cause vertigo. He’d just closed on this beautiful new house last week, which he’d dubbed Beech in honor of his grandmother’s maiden name. That was all familiar. But he didn’t know the woman. She was a blank.

“I—I remember everything now,” said Jonah slowly. “I just don’t know you. ”

Even though the woman descended the steps, she hadn’t come any further. “Think of me as your housewarming present,” she purred. “And I’m not alone. My sisters are here for you, too.”

She gestured to the front porch, and two women sauntered out of the front door. Their figures were as perfect and outfits as scandalous as hers. Jonah didn’t know what to make of it. It was quite a sight.

“What are you waiting for, Jonah?” said Smoky Voice quietly. “It isn’t like you don’t deserve what you’re about to receive.”

Something about that statement didn’t sit well with Jonah, but he let it pass. Seduction could be an uncomfortable thing, after all.

Jonah was tempted. No sane man wouldn’t be. His books were successful now. He could remember every award, every signing, every convention—all of it. He was the real deal. Finally ! Why shouldn’t he enjoy his success?

This success felt great. Perfect.

Maybe a little too perfect.

But wasn’t that the way it was sometimes? Huge successes that felt too good to be true? Too perfect?

“Why do you doubt this, my dear?” said Smoky Voice. “Your mystery novels are simply the best! Now come on in here and let’s enjoy ourselves!”

“Mystery?” Jonah frowned. “I do steampunk.”

“That’s what I meant to say,” said Smoky Voice hastily. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? A book’s a book, no matter the genre!”

“Let’s not worry about books right now,” said one of the women on the porch. “Let’s just think about all of the fun that the four of us are about to have.”

But now Jonah was just a bit rattled. They were adamant about getting him into that strange house. It seemed to go a little beyond seduction.

Wait. Strange house? Where had that come from? It was his house! Right?

“How exactly did you all get in my house?” he asked them.

Smoky Voice rolled her eyes. “The keys of course! You left them for us!”

The first red flag went up in Jonah’s head. “How could I have left them for you if you were a housewarming surprise?” he quizzed. “And the keys are right here! I’ve always had them—no—they appeared in my pocket!”

Smoky Voice threw a look at her sisters on the porch. The second red flag went up in Jonah’s head.

“Why do you ask all these questions?” she asked, but her voice seemed a little different. A little colder. “Can’t you just come into this place and bed us?”

“Bed you?” repeated Jonah. “Is this the eighteen-forties?”

“It’s a figure of speech, Rowe,” said Smoky Voice, whose seductive tone was now nonexistent. “Now, if you please—”

“No.” These women were the textbook definition of gorgeous. There was no question about that. But this entire thing just didn’t mesh with Jonah. It was a gut feeling. He even doubted his successes as a writer. It was just too perfect. “I don’t know what this is, but I don’t want any part of it. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Smoky Voice looked stunned. Her sisters looked as if they’d gotten punched in the gut. Jonah didn’t care if he’d hurt their feelings. He turned his back on them but before he could take a step, a strong hand gripped his shoulder.

“You dare to resist us, mortal?”

In the time it took for Jonah to get spun around, the entire landscape changed. The lush grounds were replaced by rocks, stones, and briar patches. The Frank Lloyd Wright was gone, replaced by a bone ridden cave that stuck out of the ground like a gaping mouth. Only Smoky Voice and her sisters remained, but they, to Jonah’s surprise, were not fazed by these stark changes. They were almost iridescent with rage.

“What the—?”

Then the sisters changed. The lustrous hair became patchy clumps. The eyes became blood red, with black dots for pupils. Their skin became deep-sunk and sallow, and their shapely figures devolved into emaciated, gaunt, and bent postures.

“HOLY SH—!”

Jonah didn’t get the chance to finish. One of the hideous apparitions lunged forward and throttled the expletive right out of him.

“You belong to us!” she screeched, her voice now an archaic rasp. “You will never leave our lair!”

“Says you, b***h!” snarled Jonah. Due to his struggling against her, the creature’s clutch on his throat wasn’t as tight as she probably desired. He had to think. Fight or flight had kicked in, but Jonah knew that if he simply attempted to flee, he wouldn’t make it far. He had to fight for a chance to flee.

For some reason, the keys were still in his grasp, even though the house never existed. He didn’t question it. He simply swiped the metal across the apparition’s face, rupturing an eye in the process. With a howl, she released him and clutched at the injury. A second one snarled in rage and gave Jonah a hard shove, which knocked him into a briar patch.

Jonah felt every sting and laceration that the briars made on his legs, but did his best to file them away. He knew that if he didn’t put space between himself and these demon bitches, he’d feel something worse than briar cuts.

The one who shoved him grabbed his throat and lifted him as though he weighed nothing. When he was eye-level, the red-eyed, sagging face morphed back into the gorgeous façade of Smoky Voice. The face contrasted massively with the emaciated and gaunt body.

“It would have been more enjoyable for you if you’d just said yes,” she told him in a voice that was restored once again to sultry.

“But it makes no difference. Now, you die.”

The words caused a memory to flash across Jonah’s mind. It felt like an electric shock in his brain.

“Death isn’t real,” he grumbled.

He conjured all the concentration he could, and willed his batons to appear in his hands. It was a hunch, but if this place made no sense, then actions could be far-fetched as well.

Miraculously, they appeared right in his hands, and even cackled with blue current from his spiritual endowment. The wraith-woman’s false visage slipped as she witnessed the phenomena. Jonah took advantage of the opportunity to c***k her ragged jaw. She cried out and released him.

Jonah had no idea what was going on. But he knew that every memory he had before was a lie. He wasn’t an author with a fancy house and women fawning at his feet. He was the Blue Aura.

The confused as hell Blue Aura, but at least he knew who he was.

“Stay back!” he roared. “I’ll break your bones! They look brittle enough as it is!”

Strangely, they didn’t even register his threat. Even the one who now only had one eye regarded him with alarm.

“What is this?” said the one on the left. “What manner of mortal are you, Jonah Rowe?”

“It doesn’t matter!” said the one who had had the Smoky Voice disguise. “Kill him!”

Jonah knew that fight time was over. It was flight time now. He didn’t know where to go, but it had to be anyplace else but where he stood. Spinning on his heel, he fled—

—And sat bolt upright in his bed, struggling this way and that. He nearly rolled off of the thing as realization hit him.

It had been a dream. A dream. A dream.

It had been a dream. A dream. A dream.As he repeated it in his mind, his heart rate returned to normal. His breathing slowed. He settled back into his own skin and was himself again.

That had been one of the most vivid dreams he’d ever experienced. What brought about that dream? He hadn’t watched anything freaky on Netflix, he hadn’t had spicy food before bed—he hadn’t done anything that warranted such insanity.

It had to be random. It was a random, sick dream that was now over.

“Yeah,” he said aloud. “It’s over. Get a grip, Jonah.”

The sound of his own voice calmed him a great deal. Everything was cool. Hell, that dream may have the makings of a novel.

With a snicker at that, he moved to straighten out the sheet that had been twisted all to hell when he’d thrashed.

“Ow, damn.” There was discomfort below his knees. He threw off the sheet to inspect, and froze.

On the lower half of his legs were multiple cuts and lacerations. He didn’t feel them until his legs brushed the cover, which must have aggravated them. The cuts were in the same places where he’d felt pain when he’d been shoved into that briar patch in the dream.

A thrill of horror overtook him, and he grabbed both of his batons from the nightstand. Blue current danced up and down the things, but he took no notice of it as he stormed out of his room with one destination in the forefront of his mind.

He reached Eva’s door and burst in without preamble. She made an exclamation before she swung her sword at him. He instinctively blocked her weapon by throwing his batons up in an X formation. So she hadn’t been asleep, after all.

The two of them stood there breathing heavily, sword on batons.

“What the hell have you brought on us, McRayne?” Jonah whispered.

“What the hell are you doing in my room, Rowe?” Eva shook hair from her face, clearly confused. “And what’s the deal with these blue glow sticks?”

Jonah had neither the time nor the patience for circular conversation. “Answer the damn question!”

“What are you talking about?” Eva shot back.

“b***h, you’d better start talking!”

“b***h—?!”

“Whoa there!”

Jonathan and Cyrus stormed the scene. They must have overheard things unfold.

“What is going on here?” Cyrus demanded. “Jonah, lower your batons!”

“Hell no!” snapped Jonah. “Superstar here would have cleaved my head in two!”

“You were the one who came in here, blue blazing!” shouted Eva.

“Lower. The. Weapons.”

Jonathan spoke with such absolute authority Jonah and Eva complied in spite of themselves. Even Cyrus gave him a double take.

“Now then,” said Jonathan in his usual tone. “Get to the family room, right this minute. I’ll summon Bast to rouse Joey, Terrence, and Reena. Explanations for these behaviors are in order.”