22. The Haunting Hours

Chapter 22

The Haunting Hours

H ugo furled his eyebrows and snarled, "I'm leaving." The side of his lip turned up to display a vampire fang. He held the hockey stick out, the blade facing Thaddeus.

"How did you do you escape the mask?" Thaddeus responded in a low voice. "No one has ever reversed it. Tell me." His face was solemn and his eyebrows arched. Thaddeus was rendered motionless, gawking at Hugo.

Hugo circled Thaddeus, each step crossing over each other, moving him closer to the hallway entrance. Hugo never took his eyes off Thaddeus. The blade of his hockey stick always pointed outward. Hugo gripped the end of the stick with his right hand loosely around the graphite shaft, ready to rear back and strike at any targets.

"You underestimate the power of my love for Alice," Hugo said. "The love we have for each other."

Thaddeus turned with Hugo, never breaking eye contact. "You will need more than the power of love if you want to get past the banshee's army."

"I'm willing to fight the entire army of the undead myself if needed, so Alice and I can leave here." Hugo stepped into the hallway, drawing the hockey stick closer to him.

He charged down the hallway when Thaddeus rushed in through the other side to block him. Thaddeus held his arms out, attempting to keep Hugo at bay. Hugo returned the favor by holding the hockey stick high above his head, ready to strike.

"Let's not be hasty," Thaddeus said. "We can work this out."

"If you don't get out of my way, I'll go through you," Hugo shouted back. "I fought you off once before. I can do it again."

Thaddeus moved his left hand to his chest, keeping the right outstretched. "I am looking forward to the rematch, but we can work something out. I told you, I care about survival. Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement. You help me, and I help you."

Hugo held the stick above his head. "Why should I trust you?"

"If she finds out you reversed the banshee's wail, no doubt the rider will send me to oblivion. You are my only chance to leave this place. I told you. Survival."

Hugo held his glare, his snarl. The thought of helping the man who tortured him—who tortured Johanna—sickened him. The uneasiness sent a sensation of his stomach churning throughout his body. He couldn't. He couldn't help the man who had caused so much pain and suffering.

He needed all the help he could get to fight off the ghouls, and having someone else in the fight never hurt, but it wouldn't matter. As long as he could find Alice, her magick would be all the help he needed. He repositioned his left hand on the taped knob, his fingers wrapping around for a better grip.

"Johanna was a friend of mine. You tortured her for nothing. You committed her to a life of loneliness and suffering for nothing. You try living over three hundred years. Watching loved ones die. You twisted her. How can I trust you'll help me?"

"She was your friend because I tortured her. Her name would have been long forgotten by the time you were around. You could say I helped to give her the gift of life," Thaddeus responded.

"You're a mad monster," Hugo shouted.

Thaddeus lowered his arm. He stood up straight and tugged on his dark green coat. The gold buttons remained in their pristine shape. He tilted his head. His voice grew deeper, lower. "I may be a monster, but I am not mad. I am a survivor."

Attack him.

A rage rumbled in Hugo's depths. An anger. A fury. The vampirism coursed through his body. All his sensations elevated. He couldn't smell blood pumping through Thaddeus, but he sensed Thaddeus was primed for a fight. Hugo had no choice. He had to go through Thaddeus.

Do it now!

He readied himself to charge, to strike fast and neutralize Thaddeus. Hugo needed to knock him off balance so he could exit through the door. It was the only way. If it turned into a slugfest, then Thaddeus held all the strength and momentum. If this was a hockey fight, he could go blow for blow. The ice was the great neutralizer with size. With enough tilt and leverage, anyone could go down.

What I wouldn't give to be on ice right now .

Hugo readied himself, steeling his resolve. He slid his right hand further up the hockey stick toward the blade to maximize the swing. It was now or never. He was going to strike first. He lunged forward, ready to?—

Hugo stopped.

His renewed vampiric senses heard something through the walls. The noise was coming from outside. The ghouls. All the ghouls were wailing as loud as they could. Hugo could hear them, as if they were warning each other. Warning them of something . . . or someone.

Hugo lowered the stick.

"I knew you would see it my way," Thaddeus said.

"Open the door," Hugo said in his normal voice.

"I am not letting you out of here without a fight unless you let me come with you."

"Open the door," Hugo said in a raised voice. "Something's happening. I can hear the ghouls."

"What?"

"Open the fucking door!" Hugo raised the stick.

Thaddeus kept his focus on Hugo, but he reached back for the ornate diamond-shaped knob. He turned the knob and opened the door.

The wails of the ghouls spilled into the hallway, the wails and screams like Hugo had never heard before.

Thaddeus stuck his head outside. "They are all moving," he said as he stepped out onto the porch. "They are all moving toward something."

Hugo lowered the hockey stick and joined Thaddeus outside. The two men moved to the railing. Rows and rows of ghouls shambled their way through the landscape. The entirety of the banshee's army all converged on a central spot.

"They're not moving toward something. They're moving toward someone."

"Listen . . . the knocks. The three knocks are getting faster," Thaddeus said.

The knocks were indistinguishable, almost sounding like one continuous knock.

"Her beast must be trying to get out to he—" Hugo paused. "Look. The rider's gone."

The black carriage remained, yet the rider on the black horse was gone.

"He was not supposed to leave. His orders were to guard you."

"Unless he's after Alice," Hugo shouted as he sprinted down the gray porch steps. He took off across the lawn.

"Wait!" Thaddeus yelled as he followed. "Wait for me."

The darkness enveloped Alice as she slammed the door shut. Her hand struggled to find the lock, stabbing at the darkness, only to find the back of the wooden door. After a few swipes, she found the target—the deadbolt lock. With a flick of her wrist, she was locked tight inside the house.

She flipped around and placed her back against the door. Out of instinct, she snapped her finger to conjure a source of light. Nothing appeared. She clenched her fist and struck the door behind her. The muffled sound of the wailing outside grew closer. Their ghoulish hands scratched at the door, attempting to get inside. The door held firm.

She was alone. Powerless. Trapped. However, she was safe. For now. Alice knew she couldn't stay here. She had to keep moving, but without anything to defend herself, she wouldn't get very far. She had to find something, anything, to use to her defense. She inhaled to soothe her racing heart.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The furniture took shape in the void. A couch. A chair. End tables. The ticking of a clock filled the room. Typical of the average household. None would be suitable for her needs.

Alice dragged her hand across the wall, searching for a light switch. She didn't know if the house had power or would even illuminate, but she had to try. She couldn't stumble around in the darkness without knowing what was before her. She didn't even know if she was alone. After a few swats at the wall, she found her query. She flicked the switch.

Nothing. No lights. Only darkness.

Typical .

The doorknob jostled back and forth. If only she had her powers. She could seal the door so they couldn't get in, and this would become her fortress. But there was no time to dwell on the what ifs. She had to move if she wanted to survive and find Hugo.

She set out into the home with small steps and her arms outstretched. The windows were boarded up. Only a small amount of light snuck through, enough for the outline of larger objects.

Her thick-soled boots echoed off the hardwood floor. The ground was at least solid. She kicked an object; it rolled off into the distance and knocked into something solid. Alice couldn't see what it was or what it struck.

She paused.

There were no other sounds in the house. Only the creaks in the floorboards as she took another step. Alice took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest, and plunged into the darkness. She stretched out her arms to guide her way.

Alice's hand brushed against the wallpapered wall as she encountered an entryway opening. She paused. Her hand explored around the corner. There was nothing waiting for her on the other side. Undeterred, she moved forward.

The shape of four chairs and a square table took form in the darkness as a sliver of light broke through the boarded-up window. She could make out the faint outline of a stove and refrigerator. She was in the kitchen. A smile formed on her face. If there was any place perfect for finding weapons, it would be the kitchen.

She shuffled toward the fridge, hoping it could shed some light on the situation. Her hands found the outside door and opened it. No light. No brisk rush of cold. Nothing.

Alice's anger and frustration bubbled to the top. Her arms shook as she clenched her fists and drew her arms in close. Her teeth mashed and gnarled under immense pressure to yell and scream, but she couldn't. Alice didn't know if she was alone in the house, so she used all her strength to hold it in.

Her heart beat faster. A bead of sweat trickled down her neck. As she stood there, the darkness enveloped her, its presence suffocating. Alice squatted down, closed her eyes, and tapped her shoulders.

"Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . ." she muttered to herself. She resorted to a calming technique she had learned when she had panic attacks following Sam's betrayal. She reached ‘one' in her countdown and stood. The frustration washed aside.

Alice swiped across the adjoining counter. It was empty and bare. Her hands traveled down the front, searching for drawers. She found a round handle and pulled the drawer open. She lightly tapped the inside, not knowing what to expect. It was empty.

She tried a few more drawers. Nothing. There was nothing. She flicked open every drawer. All empty and bare. It was as if the entire house was stripped of possessions and boarded up.

Frustration washed over her once again, ready to explode to the surface. She let out a cry of anger. Her calming technique wouldn't help her this time. It was far more palpable. She held it in the best she could. Alice gritted her teeth, allowing the faintest of a barbaric yawp to leave through the sides of her mouth. Her heart raced and thumped against her chest. Her fists clenched tight.

This was a nightmare. Everything was a nightmare going as far back as the night she visited Ez to ask for help leaving. If she could do it all over again, she would stay with Hugo. Everything would have been different. He would have never gone to face the Savinos alone. He would have never become a vampire. Hugo would have never been enthralled and controlled by Sylvia. She wouldn't have been forced to stake him in the back. Hugo would still be alive.

One night. One decision. Everything was set on a course to be here, trapped here in this nightmarish land.

Alice didn't know what to do. She didn't know where to go. If those ghouls were surrounding the house, then what could she do? She would meet them and they would tear her apart? Take her off to see the banshee? Would she become one of them?

Fear and dread overcame her. Not fear for her safety, but fear that this was all for nothing. The fear she was too late. What if Hugo had become one of them? What if he didn't hold on? What if she was too late?

Alice gulped. She was short of breath as another panic attack set in. She breathed in and out in rapid succession. She squatted down, pulling her knees closer to her chest. Alice buried her head into her arms.

Ten . . . nine . . . eight . . .

She started her calming countdown once more.

"I can't do this," she said as her voice was muffled by her coat sleeve.

Seven . . . six . . . five . . .

"I'm powerless to do this."

‘I was in a dark place. I never thought I was going to get out of it.' Hugo's last words rushed into her mind. The words he uttered to her as she struggled to hold him back. The words he proclaimed right before she staked him in the back.

‘You rescued me .'

His words echoed in Alice's mind as if he were in the house with her.

‘I want you to know that you're not a good witch. You're a great witch.'

Alice was a great witch. Her powers had never defined who she was. They never directed her actions. They bent to her will. Her thoughts. Her actions.

They were no more than a tool. There was no difference between her magical powers and the mortar and pestle she used to grind ingredients for her potions. They were tools. She was without her wine cellar, her ingredients, her potions, and she was also without her magick. Their absence didn't change who she was or her greatest strengths.

She was Alice Primrose. The daughter of Rowena, who showed her love. Granddaughter of Beatrice, who instilled in her a sense of duty. Great-granddaughter of Hazel, who was resolute in her convictions. Great-great-granddaughter of Layla, whose story taught her courage in the face of unrelenting adversity.

Their gifts had comforted her as she faced isolation in an unknown town. Their lessons gave her courage to defeat the vampires threatening the town she grew to call home. All tests she passed because of who she was, not what she could do. The very reason Hugo loved her.

Alice was the combined strength and power of all the witches who came before her. With or without her magick, she was still the neighborhood witch of Newbury Grove. The witch who was leaving this ghastly place together with Hugo.

Alice rose. She pulled her purple hair behind her ears. She tugged on the front brim of her hat. She adjusted her modern Victorian tailcoat and wiped off her black leather pants. She stood tall, her shoulders pulled back.

It was time to rescue Hugo and kick this banshee's ass.

Alice stomped around, arms outstretched, searching for any door she could find. She found a small door and placed her hand on the knob. Perhaps something in a pantry drawer or closet could be of use. Something she could wield. Or else she would attack with one of the kitchen chairs.

She dove her hand inside and found it. Something wooden and round, with a long handle. Alice yanked it out of its hiding place. She gripped the handle and slid her hand down to find what was on the end. Her hand met broomcorn.

"Of course," Alice said. "What else could it be but a broom?"

The broom, devoid of any magick, would be the weapon she wielded against the ghouls.