WARNING! SPOILERS! If you haven't finished Phoenix Fire you may want to wait until you have before you read this, it contains some spoilers!
Let me know what you think, what your predictions are, what you like and don't.
So, without further ado, here you go...
Prologue
Drew
Drew
Drew looked up at the house looming out of the mist. The old walls were grey with flecks of peeling paint here and there. Most of the windows had long since been smashed to pieces and ragged tatters of what had once been drapes fluttered outwards briefly as a breeze seemed to swirl through the mist. From his vantage point on the pavement Drew could see the small set of stairs that led up to the front door, the railing rusty and leaning precariously. The path leading up to the stairs was overgrown with weeds and alongside the house the dead remains of rose bushes stuck up like claws. This three story monstrosity was the stuff haunted house stories were made of, Drew wanted to have nothing to do with it. Unfortunately the pull in his stomach didn't give him a choice and, unwillingly he took a step forward.
The numbers had long ago fallen off the crumbling brick letterbox but where they had sat mould now grew. Thirty-seven. The house is number thirty-seven. Drew thought as he reached out to push at the metal gate beside the letterbox. Drew flinched as his fingers touched the cold metal but did not pull away, he couldn't. He expected a screech as the gate twisted on it's ancient hinges but all that he could hear was a faint sigh from the mists and the gate swung wide. Drew glanced around, trying to find the person who had produced the sigh but the thick mist obscured his vision in every direction except straight ahead, towards the house. Vague shadows of the neighbouring houses seemed like wraiths in dense fog but they were not important, it was this house that pulled at him, this house he had dreamt of every night for the last week.
Stepping through the gateway Drew was shocked by the change in the air. Where on the pavement the air had been chilly here, inside the boundaries of the yard, it was hot and suddenly cloying. An unknown smell floated on the air and left him with a metallic tang in the back of his throat. Slowly, each step being dragged out of him despite his desire to flee, he approached the house. For a moment the smell was replaced by the scent of ghost roses as he passed one of the dead bushes but then the moment was over and the strange smell was back, stronger than before. Drew had reached the bottom of the small stairway and there he stopped. Run! His mind screamed. Don't go up there! For a moment it seemed like he had gained control and he started to turn but something forced him to stop.
There were only five stairs between the overgrown path and the large wooden door and against his most fervent wishes, Drew's feet mounted them. Up the first step, then the second and the third in quick succession. On the fourth step Drew lost his balance and flung out his hand to the railing to steady himself. Heat and pleasure ran through his hand from the rail, up his arm and into his body. He gasped at the sensations coursing through him from the rail. In his groin Drew could feel a stiffening and he looked down to see his erect nipples poking under his shirt. With a mighty effort and a cry of disgust Drew managed to let go of the rail. With a groan and a resounding crash the rail fell away from the steps, crushing some weeds and rose bushes.
Drew's stomach churned as he watched the rail smother the bushes. He knew that he was less than a metre from the ground but it seemed he was looking into a deep gorge and the ground was miles below him. Vertigo gripped him and the stair seemed to shift under his feet. Desperately Drew reached out his hand and found the door handle for support. Immediately the vertigo was gone, replaced by a feeling of welcome, the house was inviting him in. Taking a deep breath, Drew pushed open the door, somehow knowing it would be unlocked and stepped up the last step and into the dim interior.
Drew's boots clicked hollowly on the wooden floor as he took several steps inside the house. Behind him the door shut itself with a soft click. Grey light filtered into the large room he found himself in through the broken windows. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling, swaying gently in the slight breeze. What had once been an expensive and ornate rug was now nothing but a misshapen rag at the foot of the grand staircase that faced the door. Drew could feel the cobwebs brushing against his face as he approached the staircase. He did not fear any spiders, he knew they were long since gone, nothing lived in this place anymore, it was barren. An intricately carved banister of a dark wood flanked the stairs. Drew's fingers traced the carvings as he lit the stairs, his footsteps now muffled by the worn carpeting that ran the length of the stairs. In places the carpet had worn through but Drew's feet carefully stayed on the carpet, he wanted to make as little noise as possible.
At the first landing long hallways, carpeted in wasted red and gold ran off on either side but Drew spared them only a glance. Despite the doors he could see in the gloom and the hidden treasures that may lay behind each one, only the top floor mattered, that was where he could feel the call coming from. Up the stairs he climbed, towards the peak of the house, where he knew he would find something (terrifying) marvellous! At the very top of the stairs stood a wooden door, it's facade carved to match the stairs bannisters. The wood was stained a deep red and the waves of the carving seemed to flow and move before Drew's eyes. Heat pulsed from the door as if he stood in front of the living heart of the house. Blood thrummed in Drew's temples in time with the pulse and he swayed backwards and forwards as if in a trance. Each time his body rocked forward his forehead would almost touch the door, stopping just millimetre's from the hot surface. Backwards, forwards, thrum, thrum. Neither speeding up or slowing, the rhythm kept it's pace for an eternity. After what seemed an eon in this pulsing Limbo Drew's forehead finally made contact with the door and the pulse ceased.
As if Drew's touch had been the key the door opened slightly, allowing just a sliver of the yellow light from inside to fall onto the top step where Drew stood. He glanced behind him and the stairs trailed of, miles upon miles into inky darkness below him. Despite his most fervent wishes to flee, Drew pushed open the door. In the large room beyond lit candles adorned every spare surface, filling the room with a flickering glow. The carpet here was a lush, thick burgundy with gold trimmings. A set of drawers made of mahogany was topped by a huge mirror, framed in golden filigree. In front of the mirror, amongst several candles, sat delicate figures carved in jade and ivory. Displayed on one wall, between matching ebony wardrobes, was a large portrait of a beautiful woman clothed like a noble from an age past.
The bed stood in the centre of the room, an astounding masterpiece. Silken drapes of pale pink and gold hung from the canopy, hiding whoever (whatever) slept there. Drew could hear a soft rustle as the bed's occupant stirred in it's sleep. Drew's feet pulled him closer to the bed, against his will, whatever dwelt inside made him want to flee but his own body was long past obeying him. Ever so tenderly, Drew's hand reached out to part the drapes of the bed.
She lay on the bed like a beautiful corpse, exquisite, pale, perfect. Her skin was white as pure snow, her lips full and blood red. Her hair lay on the pillow, cascading around her head like a golden aura. She was the most enticing thing Drew had ever seen and he could feel his body responding, blood was rushing to his groin and his breathing became faster as he stood and watched her. Gingerly he stretched a single finger to her face and traced the sharp line of her cheekbone. Drew's past life was forgotten, in this moment his entire being was entirely devoted to this woman.
Drew flinched as her eyes snapped open. Nowhere in the pale white orbs that confronted him was any sign of a life, only emptiness lived in this body. Her arm snapped up and Drew cried out as razor sharp nails pinched into his throat but still he did not pull away, being touched by this empty goddess was a blessing, even if it was painful. Her ruby lips pulled back in a snarl, revealing ancient and yellowed fangs. Her tongue flicked against one and Drew could see the cut the fang made. No blood seeped from the wound only the noxious smell of the long dead. Drew leaned forward, intent on kissing this precious and rare being.
Drew awoke with a start, unsure of where he was for a moment. Then the steady pressure of Simon's naked chest expanding and contracting against his back brought Drew the answers he needed. He and Simon were in their bed in this motel room. They'd been staying here for almost a month. On the other side of the wall above the bed head was Jack's room. No doubt Kim was in there, watching the love of her life sleep. The poor girl didn't sleep anymore now she was dead and spent most night just watching Jack. They couldn't touch or even communicate except through Drew, death kinda put a damper on a relationship.
The digital clock on the dresser flashed it's green numbers at Drew, four in the morning. Just like yesterday and the day before. For the last week he'd dreamed the same dream every night. The house, the woman. Every night he'd awakened from the dream at four. Surely there was some meaning to this. This could be some new aspect of the powers he'd taken from the Phoenix when he had defeated it those months ago. He should probably talk to Simon about it but Simon was having a tough enough time as it was. Without the guiding influence of his mother Simon had been having trouble using his own special abilities. These days Drew was far more accomplished than Simon at using his extra senses. Drew wondered if he should tell Simon that he could still occasionally see Bev. Something had happened to her during the fight with the Phoenix, it had severed her connection to Simon and the rest of the world. She seemed to be stuck somewhere with no control over when she'd pop back in and out. Drew got most of his information second hand, Bev had lost her ability to communicate with the living it seemed and the only person who could now talk to her was Kim.
This wasn't the life Drew had thought he would have at this stage in his life. In his thirties, on the run from the police after most of his closest friends had been killed by a being from another dimension. Struggling with extra sensory powers that he didn't know the extent of, his cousin a ghost that only he could see and his lover struggling to deal with the loss of his mother for a second time. Things could only get better. Right?
Casey
'Cas, I'm on late shifts this week, won't be off til 3am, hoping to get some overtime too. Money for pizza and lunches is on the tv. See you at the weekend. Dad.'
Casey scratched the bald side of her head as she read the note. If previous experience was anything to go by her father would have left several hundred dollars for her, expecting her to eat pizza and junk all week. She knew if she went shopping after school tomorrow she'd be able to feed herself for the week for cheap and be able to tuck the leftover money into the back of her underwear drawer, where she was keeping her savings. She and a few of her friends were hoping to treat themselves to a holiday after graduation. Casey wandered into the lounge and found she was right, her father had left almost $400 sitting on the small TV. She shook her head in wonder, he was so bad with money, no wonder he was always trying to get more overtime. Casey was smart though, she knew how to make things stretch, she'd vowed to never end up like her father. She loved him, a lot, but she didn't want to spend her life living paycheck to paycheck.
At seventeen Casey knew she wasn't your average girl and it wasn't just the jibes from the other girls at school about her style that reminded Casey she was different. Thick rimmed glasses sat low on Casey's pale, pointed nose. "A cute button nose" her father called it. Casey thought of it as too small and too pointy. Dark eyeliner ringed her blue eyes, making them look larger than they really were. Her cheeks were heavily rouged and her lips painted in a neon pink colour she had ordered from a catalogue. Combined with her pale skin it made every feature about her stand out and she loved it, despite the girls at school saying she looked like a clown hooker. Casey's hair was her favourite feature. When she had it cut her father had just shrugged, he was used to Casey. It was at school that she had the hardest time. It had taken three meetings with her principal, guidance counselor and even bringing in her father to finally make them see that there wasn't anything they could do now that she had made the change. Until recently her dark hair had flowed down her back almost to her waist, then Casey had decided she needed a change and she had her best friend, Nerida, shave half of her head. Half-head. That's what the other girls called her now, "Hey, Half-head, blown any clowns lately?", "Half-head, I heard your mum killed herself because she was ashamed of having a clown hooker kid", "Hey, Half-head, did you leave that hair there for your dyke girlfriends to hold onto while you're eating them out?". Casey had heard it all, it wasn't easy being strange but it was the cross she knew she had to bear to be true to herself. She couldn't wait til her bald half got used to the light and stopped being that awful grey of freshly exposed flesh. She examined it every few days when she gave it a fresh shave to try to detect any change in colour but so far it had stayed the same.
Casey counted out thirty dollars and put it by the phone in the hallway, she'd call for pizza later. The rest of the money she shoved to the bottom of the front pocket of her jeans. Down the hall, past the bathroom she walked, her school pack still slung over one slim shoulder. When she opened the door to her room she was reminded of the other reason she was different to the other kids she knew.
The dead boy sat on her bed, looking down at his feet. His skin was powdered to be pale, black eyeliner ringed his eyes and black lipstick covered his thin lips. He picked at the dark jeans he was wearing with fingernails that were also painted black. His shirt was a promo shirt for some band that Casey had never heard of. The boy's hair stuck out at different angles, it was dyed black but Casey could see the blonde regrowth that had started.
And will never grow out, she thought. Now he's stuck with that hairdo forever, poor kid.
“How do you people find me?” Casey asked exasperatedly as she threw her bag of books into the corner of the room.
“Huh?” The boy looked up startled as if noticing her for the first time. “How did I get here?”
Despite her resolve to keep her interactions with the dead as impersonal as possible Casey felt her heart soften for this kid, his face was round and boyish and she guessed he wasn’t much older than she was, what a crappy age to die.
“Don’t worry mate,” Casey smiled. “We’ll get your business sorted out and send you on your way as soon as we can.”
“Business?” the boy’s eyebrows knit together in puzzlement.
“Yeah, you know, whatever brought you to me instead of where you’re supposed to go,” Casey waved her hands vaguely upwards. “Let’s start with your name, hey?”
“I’m Nicky and who are you? How did I get here? Did someone spike my drink? Last I remember is waiting for the band to start and then nothing. God, how long was I out? My parents are expecting me home in the morning, they’re going to kill me!” Nicky’s eyes widened as he spoke, Casey could see him approaching panic.
“It’s ok,” Casey’s reassuring smile faltered, something was really wrong here. Why wouldn’t he remember, she’d never met one that didn’t remember it vividly. “When was that?”
“Saturday night,” Nicky replied and then when Casey kept looking at him he continued. “The seventeenth... Of May?”
“I’m not sure how to tell you this, Nicky but that was four months ago,” Casey reached out to pat him on the leg and her hand passed straight through him. Nicky didn’t seem to notice.
“Four months!” Nicky sprawled back on the bed. “Holy crap! What the hell happened? have I been in hospital? Where are my parents?”
“Gee, this is kind of awkward, I’ve never really had to break this kind of news to anyone before,” Casey sat slowly on the bed beside Nicky and tried to steady her voice. “You’re dead, Nicky.”
