Horrorscape Read online

  “Am I under-dressed?”

  “You look fine. That top is gorgeous with that sweater. You look gorgeous.”

  “Yes, you do,” James agreed, glancing at her—at her chest, anyway—before returning his eyes to the road.

  “But these jeans are more of a gray.” She pinched the denim. “A light gray.”

  “Val,” James cut in, “Chill. He's not going to bar you entry just because you're a couple shades off.”

  “You look very nice,” Blake agreed shyly.

  Easy for them to brush off her concerns when they were all wearing black. Val leaned back in her seat. The drive was not going to be a short one; she had plenty of time to bask in her uncertainties.

  Lisa and Blake chatted about a mutual teacher neither of them liked, with James inevitably barging in every few seconds or so with a joke or some inappropriate remark that made them all burst into laughter. None of them made any especial effort to include her, and her mood sank further. Was all night going to be like this?

  On the other side of the window, the sky was pitch black, even the stars occluded by the banks of heavy clouds. It was a new moon, too, with shadow lingering where there should have been silver. Val remembered reading somewhere that seeing the new moon for the first time through glass was bad luck. Stop that. You stop that right now.

  The distance between the houses was growing and the houses themselves had started increasing dramatically in size. Even the buses didn't venture out this far.

  James glanced at the invitation, which was taped to his dashboard, and parked in a circular dirt clearing. It was empty, except for a few other cars. Val held her breath, releasing it only when she saw that a '77 Camaro was not among them.

  “Here we are…I think,” James announced, sounding out of place amidst the moonless sky and the silent, dusty road. Unwelcome.

  Val turned her attention towards the house. It was very large. Tudor-style, with intricate brick patterns inlaid in the white walls. Rose bushes fronted the porch and she counted several different colors, including yellow, coral, and white. God, it's like something from a storybook, she thought.

  But was it the prince's castle, or the witch's cottage?

  “See any witches?” Blake murmured and Val jumped, looking over at him, both startled and oddly pleased. At least one other person was on the same wavelength.

  “Not yet,” she said gratefully.

  James opened the door for her and Lisa, who giggled uncouthly and declared how impossible it was to exit a car decently in such a short skirt. Val rolled her eyes. Blake helped himself out. The four of them started towards the front door but James paused in front of one of the rose bushes. As he bent, his intent became clear.

  “James, don't! Leave them alone.”

  Too late. He had snapped the stem. “They won't miss one measly little rose.”

  “They might.” She watched, helpless, as he twirled the yellow flower in his awkward hands. Wasn't there a fairytale where everything was set in motion by a single stolen rose?

  “Look, it's your favorite color.”

  He remembers. She tried to look stern. “James…”

  “A rose for a rose.” Carefully, he tucked the flower into her red hair and this time she couldn't help smiling. She glanced down at his hand, twined with hers, and it faded.

  “You're bleeding!”

  “He probably pricked himself on a thorn,” said Blake.

  “It could get infected. Anybody have some antibiotic cream? A bandage?”

  Lisa looked pointedly at her tiny clutch. “What do I look like? A pharmacy?”

  James shrugged and brought his hand to his mouth to lick the blood away. Val winced and something—no, it was gone—some ragged scrap of memory gusted past her, and for a moment it was nearly close enough to touch.

  “Yellow must mean caution,” he muttered.

  “Actually,” a new voice said, “Yellow means infidelity.”

  A man was leaning against the ivy-covered trellis. Leaning back against the frames as he was, his legs seemed to go on forever. He had to be well over six feet tall.

  He was looking at them directly, giving Val an unobstructed view of his face. His eyes were a pure, pale gray that seemed to hold no color at all, and his hair was as black as their clothing: a sharp contrast to his light eyes and lighter skin. Val swallowed hard. He looks an awful lot like …

  No. No, the face was different. Everything was, really.

  The resemblance was uncanny, though. Enough to make her mouth run dry. It had been years since she had seen him last, and she supposed he could have changed, or her memory had, but—

  No. Gavin had worn glasses.

  Maybe he got corrective surgery, or contacts.

  But that couldn't be it, because his face had been different.

  Faces can change with age.

  Do you want it to be him? She wanted to scream at herself. Is that what you want? You want a rehashing of what went down freshman year? She couldn't take her eyes off him.

  Blake studied her with a quick frown, and she made herself look down at her shoes. It's not him, she decided, and now that she had torn her focus from his face, she noticed his clothing and a new worry coursed through her. Hadn't their host told them to wear black? All black?

  “Infidelity?” James was saying.

  “Oh yes,” the man who looked disconcertingly like Gavin said, still smiling. “Cheating, you know. Or dying love.” And she could have sworn that he was looking right at her when he said that—and that he winked.

  She met his eyes angrily, trying to ignore the panicky way her heart was trembling inside her chest, or the memories surging from the dark places whence they'd been banished for all these years, and wondered what he was implying? That she would cheat? Or that James would?

  Or that he wants me to cheat with him?

  The thought came out of nowhere, and nothing she did could banish it. She felt almost as guilty as if James had caught her in flagrante delicto. That was another thing, she just realized. Gavin's body hadn't been quite so…fit.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” James blustered.

  He smiled coolly, and his face lost some of the friendliness but none of the amusement, and her conviction wavered again. Gavin would have reacted quite differently, she was sure. He was fire—blazing, unpredictable, and ruthless. This man—he was ice. In a voice as chilly as the morning frost, he said, “I'm your host.”

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  The interior of the house was sophisticated. Oriental carpets and a myriad of vases in candy colors lining the window sills where they were sure to grow in sunlight. The man's pace was brisk, keeping them from taking everything in, but Val caught enough to know the family was well-off.

  “I'm sorry,” James began, “I didn't—”

  “Quite all right,” the man said, without turning around. “I accept your apology.”

  Who is he?

  He led them right into a sitting room where several other kids were waiting. There were three, about the same age as Val and her friends: one girl, two boys.

  The girl was wearing a white shirt, left unbuttoned to reveal a lacy chemise beneath. She was also wearing a frothy skirt that made her look a bit like a bride, especially with her freckled youthful face and bright blue eyes.

  She glanced at them, eyes flickering over James and Blake, before settling on Val with a look of condescension. The disdain on her friendly-looking English-country-girl features was as disconcerting as a rabbit baring its teeth.

  “Who does that girl think she is?” Lisa hissed into Val's ear, “She's not even wearing black—idiot.”

  Val nodded her silent agreement and studied the two boys. One was tall and thin, with blond hair and brown eyes. His face was unusually shaped, angular, with too much sharpness on its planes to be handsome, but he was interesting-looking and not unattractive.

  The other boy was shorter and more solid, with the kind of physique one would expect from a wr
estler or a linebacker. Both boys were dressed similarly to their host, although they seemed more uncomfortable in the formal wear than he did. As Lisa pointed out, all three of them were wearing white.

  Did James get it wrong?

  It wouldn't be the first time.

  “You can sit,” their host said, gesturing at the chairs. “We'll have introductions a little later.” A movie was on, though nobody appeared to be watching it.

  James put his hands on his hips. “Who are you?”

  “For now, you can just call me GM.”

  “Gee-Em?” James repeated. “And what does that stand for?”

  “All in good time.” He produced a remote and muted the movie. It was a monster movie, judging from the amount of blood. The characters' mouths continued to move onscreen, caught in a silent scream.

  “Pretentious, huh?” James said to her.

  “The movie?” she asked, startled.

  “No. His name. I bet it stands for God's Gift to Man.”

  “No, because then it would be GGM,” said Lisa, who had overheard. “Maybe Grand Misfit? No—Gory Masochist!”

  Blake smiled, ducking his head.

  Val said nothing. She couldn't think of any humorous additions to add to the joke, and she didn't want their host to overhear her. She focused on GM herself, who raised his hands, as if calling for attention. Well, okay, that was a little pretentious.

  “Welcome,” he said grandly. “I'm so glad you all could make it. We'll have introductions shortly. There's a table in the back set up with food and the like, and of course you're welcome to watch the movie and get to know each other. I'm certainly looking forward to getting acquainted with all of you.”

  (I want to see more. Know more. Know you.)

  There was a pause. No one seemed to want to make the first move. Finally the girl in white stood up and there was a clatter of chairs as everyone rushed to follow suit. Val smiled uncertainly at one of the boys, who glanced away and quickened his pace.

  Val found herself walking beside Blake. “Am I being paranoid, or did that guy just stiff me?”

  “I guess he's a snob. This is a nice neighborhood.”

  Val nodded her agreement. But not very nice people.

  “You know, my dad wanted to buy a house in this area when we first moved here.”

  “Oh?”

  “They'll set you back several mil, and they attract the wrong kind of people.”

  Val nodded absently. The rude kind, she was sure.

  The table was weighed down with sandwiches, crackers spread with unfamiliar toppings, cheese, fruit, and something that looked like wine but proved, on closer inspection, to be a bottle of sparkling cider.

  GM, or whatever his name is, really outdid himself.

  “Wow,” said Blake. “He's even got sushi. I've changed my mind—I like this guy.”

  “What's this pink stuff?”

  “Salmon.” James appeared beside her. Blake took his cue and left to go talk with Lisa. “I was just talking to that GM guy and he said it's some kind of pâté.”

  Val set the container back down. “'That GM guy'? Does that mean you two kissed and made up?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  She blinked. “Well. You did shout at him earlier. He's not so bad. Kind of strange, though, don't you think?”

  “I guess.” James's mouth was full of salmon pâté. She resisted the urge to tell him to chew with his mouth closed. “The stuff about the roses was weird, but I know guys with weirder interests and hobbies.” He shrugged.

  “I meant that he won't tell us his name.”

  James laughed. “Maybe it's supposed to be part of the game.”

  “How?”

  “I don't know.” He picked up another cracker and spread it thickly with the salmon. “Guess the name and win a prize? Rumpelstiltskin!”

  “Hmm.” She chewed on her lip thoughtfully. “How's your finger?”

  “It just a cut.” His eyes lighted on the green bottle. “Is that wine? Sweet.”

  She turned away to help herself to a sandwich. He had cucumber and dill, with cream cheese. Her favorite. She took a bite, and rounded back on James just in case it really was wine that he'd found, and suddenly found herself in the presence of GM. Startled, she took a step backwards and nearly lost her balance.

  “Careful.” His hand closed lightly on her shoulder.

  “Oh…hi.” She looked down at his hand on her shoulder and he let it drop. “Thanks.”

  “I didn't mean to frighten you.” He had the tact not to comment on her faux pas, or the fact that she sounded like a horny schoolgirl with strep. Maybe he's truly oblivious. It was possible, but hard to believe. Someone like him?

  He's even better looking up close.

  She glanced at James, who was frowning with disappointment as he poured himself a glass of what apparently was just harmless apple cider.

  “Do I…know you from somewhere?”

  He arched an eyebrow but didn't blink. “I should think you'd have remembered me.”

  “So no, then.”

  “I never said that.” His eyes flicked over her in appraisal. “I like your shirt.”

  Is he…is he flirting with me?

  “Thanks.” She folded her arms, then realized that made it look like she was flaunting her breasts and quickly lowered them. “I didn't even realize I had it, until I looked in my closet. I suppose it's one of those rare cases when impulse shopping pays off.” You're babbling.

  “Impulses usually do that. Pay off, that is.”

  He's definitely flirting—and not subtly, either.

  (I can be suppressed no more effectively than a tiger can be leashed)

  “Black roses are my favorite flowers,” he continued, though he was no longer looking at her. He was staring off at something in the distance.

  Val frowned. “There's no such thing as a black rose.”

  “Precisely.”

  She had no idea what to say to that. “You know a lot about flowers.” Had Gavin? She couldn't remember.

  “Yes. Every flower has a meaning.”

  “My name is a flower.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Valerian,” he said, and she turned towards him, inquiring. “It means love, sleep, purification…protection.” He tilted his head towards her, offering a lazy smile. “Sound like you?”

  “No,” she said, made uncomfortable by the sheer intensity of the gray of his eyes. “Not at all.”

  “Is that so?” he said, lips twisting into a—well, it was almost a sneer.

  She was taken aback at his mercurial change of attitude. Angry, too. No wonder James had shouted at him; she had half a mind to start shouting at him herself.

  “I think I know whether I fit my own name, GM. What would you know about names, anyway? You won't even tell us yours.”

  “You'd be surprised,” he said, in the same low tone as before, “by just how much I know, my dear.”

  The skin of her spine prickled. “I am not your dear.”

  “Perhaps not,” he agreed, and a bolt of ice pierced through her insides as she had a horrible epiphany.

  GM.

  “GM wouldn't stand for…it wouldn't stand for Gavin Mecozzi, would it?”

  “I'm afraid not,” he said. “No. No, that's not what it stands for at all. Nice try, though.”

  “What, then?”

  “All in good time, my dear. You've had your guess.”

  (A gentleman never tells)

  “Stop calling me that, and answer the question.”

  “No.”

  “I'm serious.”

  His polite smile turned slightly feral. “As am I.”

  (In fact, I really don't think you want to fuck with me at all)

  Feeling sick, she decided to go find James. She had already turned away when she heard him speak again. “Have patience, and endure, my dear. Both you and your boyfriend seem to be in dire need of it.” He laug
hed. “Patience, I mean. Don't be in such a hurry to ask questions whose answers you will not like.”

  Is that a threat? She turned around to ask exactly how did he come to know so much about her—and why—but paused, brow furrowing. He was…gone. Vanished.

  Chapter Five

  Undermining

  Vanished? Val cut her eyes across the room, glossing over the other guests. She was relieved to find GM chatting with the brunette girl in white just a few paces away—You see? There you go. People don't just disappear. Stop trying to freak yourself out—but her relief was short-lived. How had he known the meaning of her name, with such encyclopedic precision too, without skipping a beat? How did he know that James was her boyfriend? And why had he called her his dear? If he had known that James was her boyfriend that should have discouraged him from flirting. Because that was what he was doing.

  (I can assure you, my dear, that I am no garden-variety reprobate)

  And just like that, her conviction that he wasn't Gavin crumbled. Again. The strange, archaic speech patterns—the unusual coloring—surely that was too great a coincidence.

  The brunette laughed at something GM said, taking a step closer to him. He smiled back but the smile did not reach his eyes and through a series of movements too coordinated to separate and individually identify, he managed to simultaneously dismiss her and excuse himself, seamlessly polite the entire time. Before Val could even blink, he was talking to the heavier of the two boys in white while the girl's expression flickered between annoyance, hurt, and anger.

  If it was Gavin, though, he had changed in more than looks alone. The Gavin she remembered was sober and brooding, lacking in social graces but making up for it in sheer intensity.

  She was tempted to ask Lisa's opinion. She knew the unwritten rules of social conduct better than anyone else. But Lisa was talking to the other boy in white, the blonde. He was talking, anyway. Lisa was nodding in all the right places but her eyes were turned away from him—searching for escape, Val thought. They made eye contact and Lisa mouthed, “Help me.”

  What am I supposed to do? Drag her out by the ear?