19

T he front porch creaked under their feet as they walked through the gaping entrance, the wood rotted away completely in spots. Miles wrinkled his nose—it reeked of damp mold and sour must, unmistakable decay. The wallpaper was peeling in long, skin-like strips, drooping to the floor. Ivy had crawled in through several of the windows, draping down the sills and burrowing under the floorboards. Weak light filtered through holes in the roof, illuminating the decomposing floorboards but leaving the corners obscured in dense shadows.

This was officially the creepiest place Miles had even been, and he frequented cemeteries after dark.

There was familiarity here—that same, oppressive chill seeping through the walls Miles sensed in the Hawthorne mansion. The aura tainted in the same way.

He repressed a tremor, making himself step deeper into the belly of the house.

It was small compared to the Hawthorne mansion, opening immediately into what had once been the living room, though the space was now used by the fungus and bugs who had made it their home. A sagging staircase led to the second floor and Miles was immediately hopeful they wouldn't be given any reason to venture up there.

"It doesn't appear anyone has been here for a long time," Gabriel commented, brushing away trailing cobwebs from the rotting banister.

He could say that again. The wooden floors were covered in dirt, leaves, and dust so thick in certain places that Miles could make out little paws and birds' feet imprinted into the grime. Tracks from previous visitors.

"There'd better not be any wild animals living in here," Miles muttered. Being jumped by a horde of rabid raccoons would be just his luck.

Gabriel scraped his shoe across the floor, dragging debris over the crack where the wooden floorboards met. It vanished, falling through, and faintly, Miles heard it strike below.

"There's empty space down there," Gabriel said. "A basement."

"I thought you said this place didn't have one."

"It shouldn't. It wasn't on any of the plans."

"Maybe it's a crawlspace." Miles pulled his phone from his pocket and turned on the flashlight, but he couldn't see through the cracks. It could be a good place to hide a body, as long as you didn't mind the stench. Florence just had a whole new house built. "Let's look for a way down."

Gabriel went one way and Miles took that as his cue to go the other, through the once-living-room. Hairy spiders scurried to escape the light of his phone, disappearing into the walls, and he shuddered. Anything with more than four legs was… blech.

He found a door, but it was a closet, the walls stained with black mold. The smell made him close it back up quickly.

"Find anything?" he hollered.

"Nothing worth sharing." Gabriel sounded vaguely nauseous. Miles decided not to ask.

A door under the stairs ended up being another closet space. Based on the scratching coming from inside the walls, it was the current home of a demon rat.

If Miles never had to come back here, he'd die happy.

A loud crash reverberated through the house, the floorboards shaking beneath his feet. For a split second of terror, it felt like the whole place was coming down on their heads.

"Gabriel!" he yelled, his voice cracking, choking on his fear. It echoed through the empty house. What happened?

When he didn't get any response, he cautiously crept into the room where he'd seen Gabriel go. It was empty, with a filthy fireplace set on the far wall and fat tentacle roots that had crept through the stone.

In the middle of the floor was a big, gaping hole, a cloud of dust settling around it.

Shit.

Miles rushed over and dropped to his knees, wincing as the splintered boards stabbed his hand. A shape shifted in the gloom, but it was too dark to make out what. "Gabriel! Are you okay?"

No answer.

Miles was going to kill him for this. As soon as he made sure he wasn't already dead.

Images of him dead or dying, impaled on a piece of wood or rusty metal, sent Miles's heartbeat pounding frantically in his temples, behind his ears. He promised himself if Gabriel was okay, he'd never make fun of his old-person clothes or his massive amounts of money or his evil family ever again.

He shone his phone flashlight into the hole and illuminated a dust-covered Gabriel lying on his back on a pile of boards. It wasn't as far down as he'd feared, but Gabriel wasn't moving.

"Hey, seriously, answer me." Miles hated the fear chasing at the heels of his words.

A beat of silence passed before there was a low groan, then Gabriel rolled over onto his hands and knees clumsily, boards clattering. He coughed a few times, clearing his throat with a rasp. "I'm fine," he finally called, his voice tight. "I found a way down."

Hilarious. Miles collapsed back against the disgusting floor. Right when he thought Gabriel couldn't be a bigger asshole, he went and scared the hell out of him. "Jesus. You dick. You could have killed yourself. Take your millions of dollars and buy yourself some common sense."

"Because common sense would have prevented the floor from collapsing," Gabriel responded dryly. "Or, perhaps, it would've made a nice cushion for me to land on." He climbed to his feet and turned in a slow circle.

"What's down there?"

"A room," was all Gabriel said before he walked out of view.

Damn it. If Gabriel was going to get murdered anywhere, it'd be in the sketchy hidden basement.

Miles slid feet-first into the hole, holding onto the edge for as long as he could before letting go. The drop wasn't far, but he landed hard, stumbling over the debris.

"Nice of you to join me." Gabriel was closer than he'd expected. "Though it would have been smarter to stay up there until I learned if there's a way out of here or not."

Oh. Yeah, that might've been a good idea.

"Ugh, it's musty down here." The air was thick in his lungs. It smelled harsh, pungent, mildew and decay right under his nose.

"A surprisingly common side effect of sealing off a hidden room in a house that hasn't been touched for years." Only Gabriel could manage to sound so snarky while covered from head to toe in dust, clutching his ribs.

The room they were in looked like storage, the walls lined with shelves, his phone light reflecting off the glass jars, illuminating viscous liquids inside. Bundles of dried herbs and spindly branches hung from the ceiling corner above a stack of faded barrels, the other corner taken up by a cluttered table.

In the surrounding shadows, the energy of the air shifted, just slightly.

They weren't alone down here.

"Do you feel that?" Miles asked, rubbing his hands together. His fingers were icicles. Against his collarbone, his protection charms were buzzing and warm.

"Yes." Gabriel cocked his head, standing still for a long second before approaching the table. "I think… something wants me to find it."

Ripples of cold emptiness pulsed through the room. Miles's hair stood on end and his teeth were aching down to the root. "You shouldn't—" he started, but it was too late.

Gabriel reached out and pulled a wooden box across the table, sending objects clattering to the floor. Something shattered. He didn't seem to notice or care. "It's locked."

The box was plain wood, nondescript, but the front latch, discolored with rust and age, was held closed by a padlock. The feeling of wrongness grew the closer Miles got, as if he were approaching a black hole.

"I don't think you should touch it."

"There's something in there." Gabriel reached for the lock. Before he could even touch it, it opened with a loud click, falling free to the table.

"I mean it, I have a bad feeling. Put it back. Let's get out of here." A low noise, a hoarse whisper, rose around them. Miles's jacket lifted in a phantom wind, urging him forward.

Ignoring him, Gabriel flipped the lid open with a creak.

"It's a book."

Well, that was a little anticlimactic. But Miles had learned that appearances were often deceptive when it came to cursed and possessed objects. It looked old, bound in creased leather with no title or marks on the cover.

Gabriel pulled it out of the box. Overhead, the house groaned ominously, the very foundation and walls around them joining in. He flipped it open, the book parting easily in the middle. All Miles could make out was scrawling black ink.

"It's not just a book," Gabriel said, voice low. "It's the grimoire."

The grimoire.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded. "Look—a hex for enemies, a resurrection spell, a sickness curse… This page is about making a talisman to punish anyone who wrongs you with nightmares so vivid, they'll go mad. And this"—he went back a page—"is a blood spell to bend someone's will to your own for a short period of time. To create a living puppet."

It was sick. Being gifted was supposed to be about helping people, about working with nature and good intentions to heal, protect, and cleanse. That book went against everything Miles had been taught.

"Put it back."

"I don't think we should." Gabriel turned to Miles. His eyes were unnaturally bright, almost glowing in the dank basement. "The way to undo the curse could be in here."

He was right, but Miles didn't want that thing anywhere near them, and he didn't like the way Gabriel was clutching it to his chest.

"Okay, fine, but give it to me."

Gabriel hesitated. A feverish sheen of sweat glinted on his forehead. "I can carry it."

The grimoire was influencing him. Jocelyn had said in her journal that it called to her, demanded to be used. Ever since it had pulled Gabriel across the room, it had been sinking its sneaky little hooks into him.

"Give it to me," Miles said firmly, watching as the cover of the book strained, bulging as if something was alive inside it, pressing into Gabriel's touch.

He reached out and grabbed the grimoire—it was so cold it seared against his skin. Gabriel resisted, lurching away, but Miles was ready for it, digging his nails into the leather despite the pain. They grappled for a moment, tugging against each other, the pulsing beat from the grimoire increasing like a racing heart, until Miles gave a vicious yank and ripped it free.

The second it was out of Gabriel's hands, he teetered dangerously, catching himself against the table. "Oh," he said, his voice faint. "That was interesting."

"No, it wasn't." Miles tucked the book under his arm, trying to ignore the radiating chill eating through his hoodie. "It's evil and it's already getting to you. Don't touch it, don't even think about it. And start listening to me when I tell you to leave stuff alone."

For once, Gabriel didn't argue, but Miles saw his gaze dart to the book again.

"Seriously," he warned. "If you try to get it again, I'm leaving it here and burning this place down behind us."

He was afraid. That thing had burrowed its way inside of Gabriel within moments.

"You can't. Swear you won't."

"Do you hear yourself? Listen to what it's doing to you."

"No, I'm not—this isn't—" He never stumbled over his words. "For Bram. I need it for him."

Selfishly, Miles had almost forgotten about Gabriel's quest to save Bram from their cursed gifts. He'd do whatever it took.

But he wasn't going to let Gabriel become warped and tainted like Florence. "Okay. We'll bring it back with us, but I'm holding onto it."

"But I—"

"Gabriel." He cut him off. "I need you to trust me on this. I've had your back this whole time—that's not going to change now."

He meant it, he realized with breathless exhilaration, and fear. He was going full ride-or-die for this stuck-up jerk.

Gabriel stared up at him and finally, he nodded.

***

They found the way back to the main floor—an unsteady ladder propped against the far wall and above it, a dingy hatch. Miles didn't want to know what kind of spider nest he'd have to reach through to grab the handle, but it was still better than staying down here.

"Let's go," he told Gabriel, who was studying a wall like it held the secrets of the universe. Now that he wasn't touching the grimoire, he appeared steadier, more himself.

"Come here."

Yep, that was his usual bossy tone.

"What?" Miles wanted to get out of there. "It's a wall. There are four of them here—crazy, I know."

Gabriel pointed his flashlight up. "If it's a wall, why is it on tracks?"

Sure enough, a metal bar ran along the top seam, attached to a grimy wheel. "That's… weird."

"A hidden room, perhaps." Gabriel brushed away thick cobwebs in the corner. "There's a crack here. Help me pull it."

A hidden room within a hidden room. God, this family was insane.

Miles set the grimoire down and went to help. Together they heaved, the screech of rusty metal echoing through the space, and the wall slid open.

He'd been expecting a small room, the place Florence did her extra nasty work. Instead, he saw a long, foreboding hallway. He couldn't make out an end.

"I'm assuming you want to go in there."

Gabriel slipped past him. Miles, ever the idiot, followed.

The walls were stone, but the ground was soft dirt, almost springy. It was roomy enough that they could walk side by side, though the low ceiling made it feel cramped and suffocating. A few yards in, the doorway behind them was consumed by darkness.

"This isn't a hall. It's a tunnel."

"It might be an escape tunnel," Gabriel said. "In case of a fire or a raid. It most likely comes out somewhere else on the property."

Miles started to sweat as they kept walking, no sound in the tunnel except for their muffled footsteps and distant dripping water. As they went farther, the walls developed a wet sheen, scummy puddles along the path reflecting their light. Thankfully, they hit a dead end quickly.

"The rest must have collapsed some time ago." Gabriel studied the mound of rocks. "Or someone collapsed it."

Miles really didn't care if it was the work of mole-people or aliens—he wanted to get out of here. "Can we go now? I have a thing about feeling trapped."

By thing , he meant a massive trigger for his anxiety. If they stayed much longer, Gabriel was going to have to talk him through a panic attack.

"You know, they call it an irrational fear for a reason."

Gabriel had no way of knowing how big of a jerk he was being right now, but Miles was still tempted to snap at him.

In the inky tunnel behind them, a soft scrape sounded.

"Did you hear that?" Miles whirled around, but he couldn't make anything out. "There's something behind us."

"There can't be anything behind us. We just came that way."

"Wanna bet?" His heart was racing loudly enough that he was sure Gabriel could hear it. Another scrape sounded, closer this time, and he lifted his phone.

A creature stepped out of the darkness on all fours. Miles had never seen anything like it. Low to the ground and built thick, similar to a pit bull, but made of mist, of shadows. His flashlight beam sliced right through it, illuminating the opposite wall of the tunnel. Its jaw was heavy, and from between the rows of wickedly sharp nightmare teeth, tendrils of silver mist unfurled. On its feet, obsidian claws glistened, scratching deep furrows into the dirt as it shifted its weight.

If hellhounds existed, this was what they looked like.

From behind Miles, Gabriel sucked in a gasp.

"Back up," Miles whispered, gaze locked on the creature. Where its eyes should have been were empty holes, pockets of starless night carved into a skull.

Gabriel's voice shook with fear. "There's nowhere to go."

Miles moved, putting himself more solidly between Gabriel and the monster. If he could distract it long enough for Gabriel to get by and make it back to the door…

"Don't even think about it," Gabriel hissed. "I'm not—"

The creature lunged forward, crashing into Miles with the weight of a boulder, taking him to the ground and knocking the air from his lungs. Jaws snapped inches from his face. Miles thrashed around, tried to hold it back, but there was nothing to push away, nothing to grip. The chill of it cut like a knife, carving deep into his flesh.

It was surrounding him, choking him, crushing him.

It was going to kill him.

Razor claws pricked at his skin, ravenous teeth scraping down his throat, and this was it, this was—

Its weight vanished.

Gabriel stood over Miles, his hands curled in tight fists at his side and his jaw clenched. The creature cowered before him, slinking across the ground, now a frightened puppy. As Gabriel took a step forward, it recoiled.

Miles couldn't slow his frantic heartbeat, couldn't get enough oxygen no matter how quickly he sucked it in.

"Stop," Gabriel ground out. The monster froze. "Leave. Now."

A low howl filled the tunnel, an unearthly sound that Miles knew would keep him awake for nights to come, and the creature melted away into nothingness, smoke blowing away in the wind.

Gabriel stumbled into the wall. Somehow, Miles found his feet, but Gabriel threw a hand out, warding him away. "Don't get too close," he warned sharply. "I don't know what this is."

When Miles saw what he was talking about, he took a reflexive step back.

Gabriel's skin was turning black, an inkblot spreading across fresh paper. The darkness was creeping up his neck, a devouring void. When Gabriel held up his hands, they were covered too, like he'd dipped them in a bucket of paint.

It might have been mistaken for a tattoo if it wasn't moving, inching farther and farther over his skin to envelop him completely. To consume him.

Gabriel's chest was heaving, the white puffs of his breath hanging in the frigid air. "It hurts," he whimpered, and doubled over. The shadows grew around him, drawing him into the gloom of the tunnel.

Miles could feel energy swelling against his mental walls, a hollow, all-consuming hunger, a starvation he'd never imagined before.

It wanted to take Gabriel.

It wanted to swallow him whole.

Miles's body was screaming at him to run away, an animal instinct that knew what wicked things lurked in the dark, but he forced himself to step forward and grab Gabriel's shoulder.

He couldn't hold back a groan. It felt like plunging his hand into a bucket of ice water, locking up every muscle in his body with shock.

Gabriel's head jolted up as if he'd been slapped. "Miles, no, don't—"

He grabbed Gabriel's bare hand. His fingers were frozen and stiff, a corpse's fingers. Like he was already dead.

The blight that had been spreading across his jaw, around his mouth, stopped. Miles didn't know what he was doing. All he knew was he couldn't let it take Gabriel.

Your thoughts , Gabriel had said all those days ago, your mind. Everything was so… bright .

Miles focused, ripping down every inch of his mental walls. It tried to rush in, the flood of hunger and that biting, frigid, corrupting aura that wanted to drag him under. He shut his eyes and pushed out . He opened himself up wide, inviting Gabriel in where it was safe.

He could feel Gabriel there a second later, that little tapping nudge in the back of his head, a knock hello. The void tried to follow, tried to pull him back.

Warmth , Miles thought, fiercely conjuring up memory after memory, summer sunshine on my skin, driving with the windows down on a hot day, seagulls cawing at the beach while Jenna and Amy giggle over ice cream, nestling deeper into the blankets to chase a fading dream, Charlee's carefree laugh filling the air, the fragrance of fresh tea in the kitchen, Mom's expression soft with pride, charcoal in my hands and smeared on my fingers , Dad's comforting voice telling me not to be afraid —

Gabriel's little smile tucked into the corner of his mouth like a secret. The press of our knees together beneath the table. How he looked at me in my bedroom, his eyes pieces of the autumn sky.

The world came back in a rush, white spots dancing across Miles's vision. Gabriel was against him, head resting on his shoulder. Miles could feel him panting. He shifted away, disoriented and self-conscious, and found Gabriel watching him. All the shadows that had stained his skin were gone.

"Can you walk?" Miles asked, his voice hoarse. His brain hurt, but he didn't put his shield back up. He wouldn't, not until they were safely out of this place.

Gabriel nodded, stepping away and nearly falling over again. "Or not," he murmured weakly, sallow-skinned, his lashes fluttering.

"I've got you."

Arm wrapped firmly around his waist, Miles half-dragged him back along the tunnel, up the ladder, through the house, and out into the welcoming light of day.