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“So, who’s gonna cook, then?” Beck said as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, like, my mom cooks every night, Marn.”
“I can cook,” I said, rushing over to him to wrap my arms around his waist. “And if I’m tired after work, I can bring stuff home from the diner.”
“Great,” he said, in a way that meant not great.
I stepped back to give him some space once more. He pushed himself away from the counter and began to walk away but then stopped and turned toward me. He looked sheepish, apologetic, actually, and my heart swelled a little. I knew moving here was going to trigger a Class-A Beck hissy fit, but maybe he was realizing how unfair he was being.
“Marn,” he said, running his fingers through his perfectly messy hair. He spent ages making it look just tousled enough. “I just do not understand why you’re doing this to me… to us.”
“No, I’m doing this for us,” I pleaded. “We have no privacy at your mom’s, and I… I already have to help her with bills. She makes me feel this big.” I held my thumb and forefinger just barely apart. “I know she thinks I’m poor white trash, and hey, maybe I am, but I’m poor white trash who loves her son, and I’m willing to pay for this until—”
I swallowed and chose my words carefully, even though I didn’t exactly think they were true. “Until your music career takes off. I know you’ve got that gig up in Lakewood. That’s… that’s going to be huge.”
Listen, it wasn’t that Beck couldn’t sing or even play the guitar in a passable manner. And I know it didn’t sound very supportive of me… but I mean… what are the chances that a guy with so-so talent makes it big? I mean, he wasn’t going to be singing at the Grand Ole Opry anytime soon. I supposed I’d just been brought up with a more pragmatic, realistic mindset, and I’d seen firsthand the sort of coddling Beck had gotten from his mother. Sure, I didn’t want to squash his dreams, but it wouldn’t have killed him to get a part-time job. The music career excuse was wearing paper-thin. I was willing to give this house a shot and really put my all into a life with Beck. My secret plan was to bankroll it for another month or so, and then, hopefully, Beck would find the initiative to help me with bills once he became more adjusted to the simple pleasures of everyday life in our own home.
Beck eyeballed me for another second, then nodded. Apparently, I’d said the right thing to stroke his fragile ego and not offend him. “Marn, one day, I’m really going to provide for us. Just watch. You’ll be glad you’re with me.”
I hid my wince. “Yeah, babe, I know. I’m the lucky one.”
As Beck meandered around the bottom floor, I decided to give him some space and check out the two small bedrooms and single bathroom upstairs. The wooden stairs creaked as I ascended, and the air grew thick and stuffy. I knew a lot of old houses didn’t have AC, but I hadn’t expected the temperature change to be so drastic between the levels. The air was downright soupy. I made a mental note to pick up a window unit for our bedroom.
The first bedroom was no more than a walk-in closet, but I supposed it had been enough for maybe a child back when this place was built. I’d known this bedroom was small, so I’d already told Beck he could use it for his instruments. The wooden door to the second bedroom creaked loudly as I pushed it open. Inside, the room was fairly spacious, and the rustic unfinished flooring and wallpaper were sort of charming. The landlord had clearly focused on updating the downstairs, but I kind of liked the soft, old-timey look. It helped sell my cottagecore fantasy. And further pushed the whole murder house thing from my mind. What kind of a murder house would have lace curtains and flocked cream wallpaper?
The only thing that seemed creepy was that the closet door was hanging open, its insides dark and deep, like a black, open mouth. A shiver ran over me, which was stupid, considering how hot it was upstairs. I shook my head, trying to clear the eerie thoughts as I stepped closer. Inside the closet wasn’t any kind of dead body or huge, sentient mouth—just shelves and hangers waiting to be filled up.
“Get a grip, girl,” I muttered to myself. “It’s just a story. Ripper Randall is long gone.”
I turned my back on the bedroom and headed to the small bathroom. Some modern updates had been made, but it was still fully tiled in a vintage black and sea-foam pattern that was very nineteen twenties, which was right around when the house had been built. Some of the tiles were cracked. The bathtub was still a big ol’ clawfoot affair, but the faucets on both the tub and sink were new, and a shower fixture had been attached. The room still smelled like old perfume and old-fashioned Ivory or Dove soap, something my grandma would have used.
I turned on the faucet on the sink, and the pipes kicked on with a groan. I splashed a little cold water on my face to clear away the rest of the heebie-jeebies, then looked into the mirror. It was scuffed and silver, clearly old and beginning to burnish on the sides. It was attached to a vintage-looking medicine cabinet, and when I opened it, I still saw spots for straight razors and other old bathroom essentials. Even though the mirror wasn’t in the best condition, I was glad they had kept the original cabinet and mirror. It was charming and cool.
“Vintage never goes out of style,” I reminded my reflection. “You can do this. You can make this place amazing.”
I looked around, feeling sorta silly for giving myself a pep talk. Beck would have made fun of me if he’d heard, but judging by the clipping staccato of his boots below, he was still downstairs. I didn’t have to worry about anyone hearing me.
I was totally alone.
2
GABRIEL
I should have known. I mean, it was going to happen one day, but I’d never really prepared myself for it. I’d been so wrapped up in business downstairs that I hadn’t even seen the new owner or any of the laborers. I’d just popped back up from Hell to check out the old stompin’ grounds, and poof…
There were people. In my house.
And one of them was a girl.
And she walked in voluntarily.
It had been a long time since I’d seen one do that before. Most of ‘em had to be dragged.
I bit my lip hard, using the sharp, quick pain to usher away any of those memories. I didn’t like thinking about my past. The girls. My family. What happened to us all…
And the sins I was still paying for.
The pain brought me back around and filled my mouth with the taste of coppery blood, something that should have been impossible given my biological state. But the body remembers long after the processes stop, and I could sense things as well as any other man. It was both a blessing and a curse, courtesy of Hell.
Thankfully, with the bite, my memories scurried back to the dark corners where they belonged, and I focused on the girl once more. She was staring at herself in the bathroom mirror, biting her own lip and fussing with her hair. There was something in her expression… as if two people lived inside of her. One of those folks was resigned, and one of ‘em seemed… dreamy. She was tryin’ her hardest to keep a smile on. I’d noticed it as I followed her through the downstairs. I stepped closer to the mirror, drawn to her in a way that surprised me. My cold, dead heart… literally… hadn’t been intrigued by a living soul in years.
