Their truce was uneasy, but it seemed to be holding. Kalen doubted they’d ever be BFFs, and the man took some getting used to, but he was all right. “Thanks. I appreciate it,” he said, and meant it.
The ride was uneventful, and he checked out the town as they drove past the square. Not a lot had changed, except a few new businesses he didn’t recognize. The trees were taller and fuller, and the city had done some work beautifying the place with flowers and such. Other than those minor details, it was like walking into a time warp.
A few minutes later, when Ryon pulled up in front of his old house and parked next to the curb, Kalen was sweating. He took a few deep breaths, willing himself to calm down. His father was like a pit bull—if he sensed the least bit of insecurity in his prodigal son, he’d go for the jugular and they’d end up having that fistfight that had been years in the making.
Kalen wasn’t fourteen anymore. He wouldn’t take the abuse lying down.
But he needed answers more than he needed to deck his father. They got out of the vehicle, four doors slamming. They started up the sidewalk, but Ryon halted in his tracks.
“Wait.” The blond pushed a fall of hair from his eyes and looked around at the quaint, yellow frame house with the white gingerbread trim. The neighborhood was peaceful, leaves on the old trees swaying gently. Somewhere, a dog barked. A street or two over, children could he heard playing. A typical day.
“What?” Kalen asked, voice low.
“There are two spirits here,” Ryon told them grimly. “They’re warning us to leave.”
“They say why?” This from Nick.
“Something about bad juju. Black magic.”
Great. Just what they needed. “Somehow I should’ve expected this,” Kalen told them. “Hang on, let me see if I can get a handle on anything supernatural.”
Opening his magic, he let it flow outward, toward the house, seeking a like power. The backlash was instantaneous and knocked him backward violently. “Fuck!”
Aric caught him, saving him from smacking the pavement. “Whoa! Found it, huh?”
“Son of a bitch!” Straightening, he glanced at the redhead. “Nice catch.”
“You’re welcome. So, what’s the deal?”
“Just like Ryon’s spirits said—black magic. There’s a thick net over the house, acting as a veil or protection ward of some kind.”
“Can you get rid of it?” Nick asked.
“I think so.” If not, they’d need a shovel to scrape him off the ground. But he refrained from mentioning that.
“Great. Just get us inside before somebody calls the cops,” Aric muttered.
There was that. Blocking out thoughts of curious neighbors, Kalen closed his eyes and opened his magic. Let it flow, cautiously this time, toward the spiderweb of wards over the house. He probed the structure here and there, found points of weakness to exploit. He worked on those while expanding his gift, searching for the right type of spell.
It was a simple veil, constructed to deceive all who viewed the house so that they would see it as it had been long ago. And the signature belonged to a creature he was beginning to know well.
“Malik,” he managed. “This is his work.”
He heard a couple of curses at this news, but kept his focus on the ward. On breaking it down inch by inch until finally it collapsed and dissipated like dust. What remained, the true image of the home where he’d suffered as a boy, reflected what he’d expected to find.
The house was in a state of sad neglect, sitting in a weed-choked lot, the porch falling in. The windows resembled soulless eyes, broken and weeping. The once-cheery yellow paint was faded and peeling, making the house appear diseased. That wouldn’t be too far from accurate.
Ryon started up the cracked, uneven sidewalk. “Christ, what a mess. Why would Malik bother to mask the actual condition of the house?”
“I can think of one good reason,” Kalen said. “He didn’t want anyone going inside.”
“Be alert going in.” Nick eyed the house warily. “We don’t need any more of you laid up or worse.”
They stepped onto the porch carefully, and the rotted boards groaned under their combined weight. It seemed to hold, though.
“Ladies first,” Aric quipped, smirking at Kalen. At Kalen’s glare, he immediately attempted to look contrite. “Sorry. Old habits.”
Kalen laughed, surprising the redhead. The others smiled, too. If he was going to be a real part of this team, he’d have to learn to laugh at himself a little. Okay, a lot.
He tried the door and the knob turned easily. Every cell ready to spring into action, he swung the door open. All that met him was the scent of dust, cobwebs . . . and something he’d smelled dozens of times before, in cemeteries all over.
Decay.
The wolves must’ve picked up on the scent, too, because Nick laid a hand on his shoulder. “You can wait outside if you want. Nobody will think less of you.”
He knew what they were likely to find. But Kalen hadn’t come this far to face his demons only to back down at the last second. “No, I’m fine. Let’s do this.”
At the commander’s nod, they moved inside and began to search the house, sticking close. The interior must’ve been covered in an inch-thick layer of dust. Cobwebs littered the corners. Ryon moved into the kitchen and in a moment he called out.
“Hey, come look at this.”
Kalen followed them inside and stared at the mess. The stench of old, burnt food assaulted their sensitive shifter noses. Two pots sat on the old stove, charred black with something that must’ve been cooking at one time. Ryon opened the oven and started coughing, slamming it closed again.
“There’s a pan of something in there that I think used to be meat of some kind.”
“Gross,” Aric said, wrinkling his nose.
Nick waved a hand at the room. “So, dinner was cooking. And then what?”
“Nothing good,” Kalen said. “Let’s check their bedroom. Mom would often come home after work and change clothes after she started dinner. She always said it was nice to unwind after a long day.”
He really, really hoped they didn’t find anything. He’d rather his parents just be gone without a trace than to discover what he was afraid they would. But his prayers were not answered.
The reality was so much worse than he’d imagined.