Heart of the Dead: Vampire Superheroes (Perpetual Creatures Book 1) (7 page)

Jerusa shook her head. “I don’t want to know.”

Foster was such an enigma. He was a man of knowledge and wisdom, world traveled, sophisticated. Yet, he lived like a fugitive and behaved like a narcissistic megalomaniac. When Jerusa had first been introduced to Foster’s quest for perfection, she’d thought that maybe he was competing in a body-building contest or some type of male beauty pageant. Later, she rode the theory that Foster’s transformation was for his love, the elusive Shufah — a woman he spoke very little about. When Jerusa confessed her suspicions, Foster denied it. He claimed their love transcended the physical.

When Jerusa had pushed him about the purpose of his quest, all he would say was, “I’m going to be in this body for a long time. Beauty is my only hope for survival.”

It was an odd statement, to say the least. But Jerusa left it at that. Perhaps it was the anguish that had been in his eyes as he spoke the words. Or maybe she was tired of his riddles.

“Is it Shufah?” Jerusa asked. “Are you leaving to be with her?”

Foster held her gaze. “Yes.”

“Can I meet her?” Jerusa turned so that she could wipe her eyes without Foster seeing. “I mean, if she is going to steal you away, I should at least get to see what she looks like.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice gentle and meek. “She will be arriving after dark and then we’ll be going.”

“Going where?”

Foster held his peace and walked to the window to bathe in the sunlight.

Alicia materialized in the room, perhaps drawn by Jerusa’s melancholy spirit. The ghost in the prom dress had never been a fan of Foster and many times refused to enter his house. When she did enter, she often stood in the corner with her arms crossed over her chest. Now, however, Alicia drifted about the room in a slow walk, searching this way and that, as if trying to locate a strange noise or smell out a foul odor. She moved to a nondescript door in the kitchen that led to the basement and passed through the wood as if it were no more tangible than smoke.

Jerusa wandered into the kitchen, feeling a bit like a waft of smoke herself. The solid oak table was littered in empty Chinese food boxes and crumpled chocolate bar wrappers. A couple of drained wine bottles stood on the counter near the sink.

Though these items were professed favorites of Foster’s, he had sacrificed them in his quest for vanity. It seemed Foster had fallen off the wagon, but as Jerusa looked a bit closer, a terrible image invaded her mind. It was a last meal, like those given to the condemned.

“Are you in trouble?” she blurted out.

Foster appeared in the doorway. “Trouble?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. What are you running from?”

“Little rooster,” Foster said, invoking his pet name for Jerusa. It was a name she longed to hate, but could never quite bring herself to ask him to stop calling her that. “I’m not running from anything. I’m running to something. You’re just going to have to trust me on that.”

Foster reached out and touched her cheek.

“Listen,” he said. “I know things are bad with your mom. I want you to know that you are welcome to use this place if you need to get away.”

“What, you mean like
live
here?”

“If you’d like.” He turned and waved a hand at the piles of clutter. “Feel free to throw out all of this junk and make the house your own.”

Jerusa felt dizzy. “I can’t afford this place. I don’t have a job. I don’t even have a car.”

“The house is paid for, along with the utilities. I have a trust that takes care of all of that. You’ll need to scrape up the cash for sundries, but that shouldn’t be too much trouble.” Foster tossed a set of keys to Jerusa. “The car in the garage is yours, too. I’ve already signed over the title. I wasn’t sure if I’d see you, so I sent all the documents to you in the mail. You might want to get them before your mother does.”

Jerusa’s jaw dropped, and though she knew it was cartoonish, she couldn’t close her mouth. All she could say was, “Why?”

“Why give you all my earthly belongings? Because you’re a good person, little rooster. You never once judged me for my weirdness. And you’ve had a lot stacked against you. If you can find the courage to break free of your mother, the house and car will be waiting for you. I wish I could do more.”

Jerusa darted across the room and clutched Foster around the chest. He wrapped his arms around her and laid his cheek on the top of her head. Never before had she been so happy and so sad at the same time.

Foster placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed her away. “Maybe once I’m gone, Alicia will finally feel comfortable inside this house.”

“She’s already inside,” Jerusa said, now weeping freely. “She’s in the basement.”

A wave of panic crossed Foster’s face, but it was gone before Jerusa could confirm it.

“You better get going,” he said, pulling his eyes away from the basement door. “This will have to be goodbye for now. I’ll write to you when I can.”

“Before I go, can I ask a favor?”

Foster nodded. “Of course.”

“Do you have any extra clothes that I can have?”

“Anything you want. I’m leaving all this behind.”

“Great,” Jerusa said. “I need a shirt, pants, socks, shoes and maybe some underwear.” She wasn’t sure if her new woodland friend would wear another man’s underwear or not, but it seemed rude not to offer.

“May I ask why?”

Jerusa wasn’t sure where to start. “I met a naked man in the woods.”

Foster raised an eyebrow. “You mean like Silvanus, the Roman god of the woods? That kind of naked man?”

Jerusa laughed, not because Foster’s statement was funny, but because she had sensed something divine about that strange man in the woods, and one of her first thoughts had been that she had met Apollo. “I think he’s been robbed or attacked. He seems disoriented. I told him I’d bring him some clothes. Maybe I can convince him to go to the hospital.”

“That might not be such a good idea,” Foster said. “He might be dangerous. What does Alicia think of him?”

“She acts about the same as when I’m around you, so he can’t be all bad,” Jerusa said. “So can I have the clothes or are you going to make a liar out of me?”

Foster smiled, but his concern remained visible in his eyes. “Technically, I’ve bequeathed to you this house and everything in it. The clothes are yours to do with as you wish. I’ll go pick something out for ol’ Silvanus.”

Foster left the kitchen and went to the back of the house where his bedroom was located. Jerusa drifted about the kitchen, brushing her fingers along the counter and cabinets, allowing the idea that this house now belonged to her to sink in. She felt both the rush of freedom and the trepidation of striking out on her own.

As Jerusa passed the door to the basement, she recalled the lightning look of panic that had crossed Foster’s face when she’d told him that Alicia had ventured below. Jerusa had never been in the basement — never even glanced below. The basement was completely underground, with no windows or doors, except this one in the kitchen.

Jerusa had always respected Foster’s privacy. Though she had been tempted, she had never snooped through his belongings, nor entered a room that she wasn’t invited into. But this was her house now, was it not? Basement included.

Jerusa reached for the doorknob. A strange nervous exhilaration rushed through her blood. Her senses tightened, her breathing slowed. The story of Blackbeard’s wife flooded her mind, causing her to pause, but only for a moment. Her hand rested on the cold, brushed pewter doorknob and it seemed to tingle in her hand.

She suddenly felt scared, inexplicably frightened by what might be on the other side of the solid oak door. There could be anything hidden in the dark depths below the house. A virtual labyrinth that made Buffalo Bill’s basement seem tame by comparison.

This was foolishness. Foster was eccentric, not dangerous, despite what Jerusa’s mother, her friends, and even Alicia thought. Jerusa twisted the knob. It turned freely in her hand. The door was made to swing outward. Jerusa tightened her grip and pulled.

The door didn’t move.

She twisted the knob the other direction, turning it as far as it would go, and then pulled again. The door remained firm in its jamb. She pushed the door just in case she had somehow misread the direction it opened, but it wouldn’t budge.

Jerusa stepped back and examined the door. It was a thick-looking paneled door, stained dark, like the floor and woodwork. The pins of the matching pewter hinges were visible, meaning the door should, in fact, swing outward. There were no locks visible that would impede its opening. It must have been braced from within. But how did Foster manage to lock the door from within when there was no other way into the basement?

Was someone else in the basement?

Jerusa pressed her ear against the door, but the thick oak blotted out all sound. She reached for the knob again, but before she could touch the metal a hand spilled through the door, snatching at her wrist.

Jerusa gave a startled cry and jumped backward. Alicia walked through the solid oak door as if it were not there.

Alicia’s face was drawn tight, her eyes bulging and distant. Her complexion had the grayish-yellow hue of old newspaper. What horrible thing could there be hidden in the darkness below that could frighten the dead?

Alicia turned her eyes on Jerusa, then backed up against the door with her arms spread wide. The message was clear enough:
Don’t go to the basement.

Foster hurried into the kitchen, a knapsack full of clothes hanging from his arm.

“Is everything all right?” he asked. “I thought I heard you scream.”

“I’m fine,” Jerusa said. “Alicia startled me, that’s all.”

Foster dropped his shoulders in relief. “I thought she was the ghost that kept all the other ghosts from scaring you. Don’t tell me she’s picking up bad habits from the other spooks in your life.” There was no derision in his voice. He spoke it with the certainty of fact. Day follows night. Spring follows winter. Ghosts follow Jerusa.

How could she not love and trust him?

“What’s in the basement?” Jerusa asked, watching Foster’s face carefully.

Foster’s eyes remained unblinking as they drifted from Jerusa to the door then back again.

“Why is it locked from the inside?
How
is it locked from the inside?”

Foster cleared his throat. “Did Alicia tell you what was down there?”

“No. You know I can’t hear her. She’s just very adamant that I not go down there.”

“She’s a wise ghost, little rooster,” he said, and the tone in his voice sent a chill spilling down Jerusa’s spine. “But neither of you need to worry. What’s down there is leaving with me. When you return to claim this house, the basement will be safe.”

Jerusa could see by the look in his eyes that this was all the light Foster was going to shed on the mystery in the basement, so she nodded and said, “Thank you.”

Foster’s cheery smile returned and he handed her the bag. “Give my regards to Silvanus of the Woods.” Then he took her in his arms and hugged her tight. “I will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” The words opened a deep hole inside her such as she had never felt.

Foster stepped back. “One more thing before you go. Stay inside tonight.” He read the quizzical look in her eyes and raised his hand, shushing her before she could ask. “I can’t tell you why. Just trust me. Be home before dusk and don’t go anywhere until dawn. Promise me.”

Jerusa wanted nothing more than to explore the depths of Foster’s mysteries, to lock her feet to the floor and refuse to leave until he spilled every secret, but she knew it would make no difference. Foster was leaving and taking his secrets with him.

“I promise,” she said. “But only if you promise that you’ll write to me. Don’t leave me here alone. You’re my only lifeline to the wide world.”

A strange look passed across Foster’s face. Jerusa couldn’t tell if it was despair or excitement. Perhaps a hybrid of both.

“I promise,” he said.

Foster walked her to the door, then stood on the porch and watched as she descended the driveway.

Chapter Seven

A
s Jerusa retraced her steps back to the man Foster had dubbed Silvanus of the Woods, Alicia’s behavior grew more erratic. Several times, Jerusa spotted the ghost running to and fro through the woods, passing through thick-trunked trees as though they were an illusion. After a bit, she resorted to materializing in front of Jerusa, her arms extended, as though her incorporeal presence could halt Jerusa’s physical form. After the fourth or fifth time, Jerusa just kept walking, never even missing a step, and passed through Alicia just as the ghost had done with the trees.

“What is your problem today? Are you having some kind of ghost PMS?”

Alicia’s only answer was to continue her attempts to stop Jerusa.

“I mean, I figured you’d be happy,” Jerusa continued. “For whatever reason, you’ve never liked Foster and now he’s walking out of our lives forever.” Saying it aloud drove a fresh dagger into her heart. She swallowed the pain and went on. “And Silvanus is just some poor guy with amnesia or something. I’ll give him the clothes and be gone. I just feel sorry for him, is all.”

Alicia had taken to waving her arms in alert as Jerusa passed through her.

“Besides,” Jerusa said, “what is there to be afraid of? Dying? You’re dead and you seem all right.” A dark giggle escaped her, but Alicia didn’t seem to appreciate the joke. “After all that I’ve been through, dying doesn’t scare me. Living does.”

Jerusa slowed to a stop, her mind reeling at her own admission. It was a foolish thing to say, but true none the less. Death was simplistic, unavoidable, as certain as the sun. But living — not just existing, but truly living — now that was a buzzing hornet’s nest.

Mundane things like driving a car or going on a date were as panic-inducing to her as the outdoors was to an agoraphobic. What made her think she actually had the nerve to leave her mother and move into Foster’s house?

Foster believed in her, though. Why else would he have given her the house?