Chapter 2 #3
“Anyone who wants to prove they’re not scared of Henrik’s ridiculous ghost stories is welcome to join me,” Sander says, his tone stubborn and proud.
The silence stretches uncomfortably, and Sander’s jaw tightens as he realizes that no one is going to volunteer.
Something flickers across his face, maybe hurt, maybe fear, hastily masked with a too-bright smile.
Niillas relaxes slightly. Now the only thing Sander has to do is mock the others’ cowardice and retreat from his commitment more or less gracefully, so everyone can get back to partying.
“Guess I’m going alone then,” is what Sander says.
What the ever-loving fuck?
“No.”
The word is out of his mouth, and Niillas is on his feet before he can think better of it. Everyone turns to stare at him.
“You volunteering to go with him, mountain man?” Henrik’s voice drips with challenge and something else. Something nasty. Maybe the prospect of Sander and Niillas tearing each other apart when left to their own devices.
What an ass.
“Yes, I’m volunteering, and no, Captain, you’re not going alone.”
“Well, awesome,” Henrik says, sitting back with satisfaction. “Looks like we have our volunteers.”
“This is stupid,” Emma says sharply. “You’re all drunk, and the place is probably dangerous without any trolls or ghosts being needed.”
“It’s just one night,” Henrik says like a dismissive teacher, and Emma a particularly dense student. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Nothing. Nothing is going to happen. We’ll go.” Sander glares at Henrik. A disgruntled, slightly drunk devil. Niillas is overcome by the weird urge to adjust his horns and smooth his disheveled hair.
“When we come back tomorrow, you all owe me peak performance in training. No whining. No missed practices. And the defense pays by listening to Vars.”
“Deal,” Henrik says immediately. “But if you chicken out and come back before morning, you’re buying drinks for the entire team until Christmas.”
“We won’t chicken out.”
Sander’s jaw sets stubbornly, then he turns to Niillas. The party gradually returns to its previous energy, people moving on to other conversations and games, and Sander gestures sharply toward the kitchen.
Right, they have to discuss this.
“What’s your game, Vars?” Sander hisses as soon as they’re alone.
“Maybe I don’t want to explain to Coach why our captain went missing in the woods.”
Sander makes a soft, discontented sound, almost a growl, that resonates with something usually locked away in Niillas’ chest. A part of him that isn’t allowed to come out and play but wants to.
Dangerous territory.
“Right. When do we go?” Sander checks his phone. “It’s only ten-thirty. We could head out now and get there before midnight.”
Sander’s speech is clear enough, but Niillas takes in his flushed cheeks, remembers how he swayed slightly when he rose from the couch.
“Are you sober enough for this shit?”
Sander gives him a flat look.
“I’m fine.”
That’s not what Niillas asked, but he nods anyway.
“All right. Let’s go before I change my mind.”
“I didn’t ask you to come with me.”
Emma and Jonas enter the kitchen, and Niillas is relieved that their arrival puts an end to the beginning argument. Because if they start arguing now, Sander might insist on going alone, and that is not going to happen.
Without a word, Jonas begins preparing a picnic basket with some bottled water, juice, granola bars, and sandwiches while Emma watches them with a worried expression.
“This is idiotic. And dangerous. The house could be on the verge of collapse.”
“I don’t think so, if Henrik’s cousin is trying to sell it,” Sander says, as if the prospect of spending a very cold, very uncomfortable night in a haunted house doesn’t worry him at all.
“I wouldn’t bet on it. Henrik is full of shit,” Emma hisses.
“Text us every few hours so we know you’re alive, okay?”
To Niillas’ surprise, Jonas sounds genuinely concerned. Maybe there are some decent guys on his team after all.
“We will,” Sander promises, grinning like this whole dare is a huge joke to him.
Silly city boy has no idea what he’s getting himself into.
Niillas takes the basket and follows Sander out into the cold October night.
Sander pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself.
He’s laughably ill-dressed for their purpose, and Niillas has to resist the urge to offer him something warmer to wear.
Above them, the aurora borealis has begun its nightly dance, green ribbons of light twisting across the star-studded sky.
“Beautiful night for ghost hunting,” Sander says.
It’s indeed a beautiful night, and the veil between the worlds is thin. Niillas takes a quick glance into the trunk of his Defender, checking over his gear. Sleeping bag. Torchlight. Ax. Everything’s there.
Good.
He closes the trunk before Sander can get a look at his camping equipment. They get into the car in silence, and Niillas drives back down to the fjord road, turning north. In the passenger seat, Sander is quiet, staring out at the dark water.
“You know the way?” Sander asks when Niillas leaves the main road and follows a winding track through dense forest that leads away from the fjord and up into the mountains.
“I’ve hiked here in the summer. My grandma’s land is only a little further north. I know the property Henrik talked about, though I’ve never been inside.”
Sander snorts.
“Don’t say you think it’s cursed too.”
“Not cursed exactly. Though these mountains can be dangerous.”
“You can just drop me off there and tell Jonas to pick me up again tomorrow morning if you’re scared.”
There’s a defensive edge to Sander’s tone, but he seems determined to see this through with or without Niillas.
Sander Eriksen has clearly no idea what he’s gotten himself into.