Chapter 27 Kit
TWENTY-SEVEN
Kit
As Kit’s head whipped around to face Jack, Xavier’s ring fell to the floor with an unnaturally heavy thud. Jack was backing away, his hands raised defensively in front of him. His brothers had faded to the point that even Kit’s sharp eyes couldn’t quite make out their features.
Kit shouldn’t have dropped his guard, but Jack sounded terrified. Something solid and sharp raked against Kit’s back—the poker, his mind supplied—and he crashed to the ground in a sprawl.
With a grunt of pain, Kit flipped himself around and pushed up onto his elbows. Jack had been right: it wasn’t Quin standing above him, poker in hand. The caustic grin on his face didn’t belong there.
“How good of you, darling, to already be in my favourite position,” Lawrence said.
“Oh, god,” Shaun breathed. Kit could sense movement, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from Lawrence.
“Everyone’s here,” Lawrence said, shifting his gaze to Shaun. “It’s a bit like one of those reunion shows, isn’t it?”
“That makes sense why you’ve appeared, then,” DJ said.
“Those episodes are pretty terrible. They usually bring back a pointless cast member.” There was no real heat in the quip, but it provided a sufficient distraction for Kit to push himself unsteadily upright.
He glanced at where the ghosts had last stood, but saw no sign of them.
“But you don’t watch television,” Shaun said slowly to Lawrence, his confusion not overriding the note of fear in his voice.
Lawrence sighed. “Haunting you meant there was little to do but mill around over your shoulder and watch whatever sitcom you had on. I think I lost most of my IQ.”
“You haunted Shaun?” DJ asked, incredulous.
“He killed me, remember? He’s the one I came back for.”
“Then why did you decide to haunt me instead?” Kit asked unsteadily. Lawrence had always wanted Shaun more. It had been evident when he grew complacent about keeping Kit under lock and key, too busy stalking his new obsession.
The way Lawrence’s eyes trailed over Kit then, however, made him feel dirty.
“Christopher, all those dark thoughts of yours made it far too easy for me to siphon your energy. I read every single one in an instant. All those times you bit a stranger and hated yourself for it. Or when you’d flinch at your own reflection.
And those occasions where you considered ending it all.
” Lawrence raised a mocking brow. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you didn’t.
You left the perfect space for me to fill instead. ”
“So, I just happened to be the easier option,” Kit said, more to himself than the others. He fisted his hands at his sides, impotent rage building inside of him.
Lawrence’s dark laugh was his only response.
“Shaun, DJ,” Rake said evenly, coming and standing tall beside Kit. “Go find the safe. We’ll deal with this.”
“This,” Lawrence said, gesturing to himself, “isn’t something to be dealt with. I’m calling the shots here.”
Rake scrubbed a hand over his face. “Shaun, Deej, go.”
“But—” DJ started.
“That’s an order, sweetheart.”
DJ glared at Rake, mutiny in his dark eyes.
“Nobody take a step,” Lawrence warned. He held the poker to his own neck, the curved spike snagging on his skin and cutting into the flesh. “Or I’ll slit his throat right here.”
Kit jerked forward, though stopped in his tracks when the scent of Quin’s blood hit the air.
Rake spoke up. “Head upstairs,” he said again. “Get what we need.”
“Will you both be okay?” Shaun asked.
“We’ve got this,” Kit said. He hoped he sounded convincing.
Lawrence made a noise of frustration as Shaun and DJ slipped from the room. “Now, why did you make them do that? I’m going to have to do something drastic.”
“You’ll do nothing,” Rake said, taking a step forward, moving in front of Kit. “Because you want Quin’s body. Damaging him will only damage yourself.”
Lawrence narrowed his eyes at Rake. “Are you willing to take that risk?”
Before Kit could protest that it wasn’t Rake’s call to make, Rake bared his fangs at Lawrence. “Yes. I am. You know that I’m stronger than you. Give it up.”
Lawrence sighed, the poker dangling limp in his grip. “I regret the night I left you alive.”
The sounds of Shaun and DJ tearing apart the upstairs bedroom were thunderous in the stillness of the manor.
Every bang had Kit flinching, expecting the crash of the floor giving way under them.
He glanced out the window. They had a while until sunrise, but they’d need to be out of the manor well before then.
The idea of them all being stuck there, vulnerable in sleep, made Kit’s skin prickle with unease.
“We are still at an impasse,” Lawrence said, swinging the poker around in a jaunty movement. All he needed to complete the image of an old-school pantomime villain was a moustache to twirl.
“No, we’re not,” Kit said, trying to keep his voice steady. “You’re going to fuck off out of Quin, or I’ll make you leave again.”
“How many times can you knock him out before he gets permanent damage?” Lawrence asked, rapping his fist against his head.
In the space of a second, Jack manifested next to Kit. He hadn’t expected the ghost to reappear, and neither had Lawrence, judging by his slack-jawed expression. Thomas and Matthew appeared behind Jack, the two of them less tangible than their younger brother.
Lawrence blinked, then seemed to collect himself. “My boys.”
Jack’s form wavered and then solidified. Kit wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched him: if his fingers would pass through his body or if he’d be as solid as flesh and bone.
“This is our home,” Jack said, his voice seeming to bounce off every corner of the room. “We want you to leave.”
“I think you’ll find that I was the one to bring you here,” Lawrence said, though he didn’t appear as cavalier as he had only moments before.
Thomas disappeared and then reappeared behind Lawrence.
Kit didn’t mean to give him away, but his gaze darted to the ghost. Lawrence spun, slicing the poker straight through Thomas’s head.
Jack’s noise of dismay when Thomas disappeared—a pure, animalistic sound—cut deep into Kit. It spurred him into action.
Kit sprinted at Lawrence, dodging as he swung the poker around and narrowly avoided getting disembowelled. Kit had seen it happen to Shaun when they’d last fought Lawrence, and he had no desire to share the experience. Getting both of his legs snapped like twigs had been bad enough.
Rake came at Lawrence from the other side, wrenching the poker from his grip and throwing it out of reach. Lawrence growled as it skittered along the floor, and it sounded so much like Quin’s wolf that it gave Kit pause.
Which, of course, Lawrence used to his advantage.
The blow caught Kit off guard, Lawrence lashing out with Quin’s full strength. Kit’s face whipped to the side, his jaw flaring with white-hot pain. His vision blurred, and he stayed on his feet by sheer force of will alone.
By the time he righted himself, Lawrence was subdued. Rake sat on top of him, holding Lawrence’s arms down and pinning his legs. Lawrence spat threats so impotent it was almost pitiful.
“You’re not the strongest in the room anymore,” Kit said, standing over him. “Not so easy, is it?”
Lawrence glared at him. “You will regret crossing me.”
“Been there, done that.” Kit toed at Lawrence’s arm. He wasn’t harsh with it, given that it was Quin’s body, but he took some satisfaction at Lawrence’s wince. “Remember when we ripped your arm off? How did that feel?”
“When I—mmph!” Lawrence tried to bite Kit’s hand when he used it to cover his mouth, but Kit pressed down hard.
“Kit, could you hurry it up with the monologue?” Rake gritted out. “He’ll buck me off if you take any longer.”
Kit stared into eyes the wrong shade of blue. “Goodbye, Lawrence. I’m going to throw you into the North Sea.”
Kit reached his hand down and circled Lawrence’s—Quin’s—throat.
He could feel the blood pumping through his veins; feel his Adam’s apple bobbing as he fought to breathe, feel his frantic, fluttering pulse.
It was alarming to see his face redden and his eyes bulge.
Kit wanted to avoid hurting Quin, but this was the only way.
“He’s out,” Rake said, springing up and wiping his hands on his jeans. Kit panicked for a second that he might have been faking it, but true enough, Quin’s body had gone limp. Kit withdrew and glanced around. The ghosts were nowhere to be seen.
Kit rubbed at his sore jaw. He’d have to feed from someone else for it to heal, given that Quin would be far too weak to handle any more blood loss.
He didn’t like having to look at Quin’s unconscious body, knowing that it was all his fault.
It made his stomach churn with guilt. Quin wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for him.
He wouldn’t be injured, or hurting, or be forced to relinquish control of his own body.
Kit knew all too well what it was like to be unwillingly controlled by Lawrence. In this very building, it had happened to him in so many ways that could have broken him beyond repair. It hit him then that if things had gone even worse, this could have also been his final resting place.
“Hey,” Rake said, pulling Kit’s attention away from his morose thoughts.
Kit lifted his chin, his gaze meeting Rake’s serious eyes.
“You okay?” Rake’s voice was quiet, almost subvocal.
Kit swallowed. Rake wasn’t the sort to ask about others’ feelings. Despite not really feeling okay, Kit nodded.
Rake—to his relief—didn’t press the issue.
They both turned towards the parlour door when they heard a shout from upstairs. “Rake, what’s going on?” It was Shaun.
“It’s clear!” Rake shouted. “Lawrence is down.”
There was a flutter of feet on the stairs, and then DJ burst back into the room. He looked stricken.
“Did you not find it?” Kit asked, dread curling in his gut. It would be just his luck if, after everything, they couldn’t even locate something for the witches to use to trap Lawrence.
Shaun followed, holding up a small necklace. He sped over and dropped it into Kit’s hand. “We got it. DJ’s being dramatic about—”
“The moths,” DJ wailed. “Moths. They’d infested the wardrobe. It was horrible.”
“Sorry?” Kit tried.
“Thank you for understanding my plight,” DJ said, wiping a fake tear from under his eye. “Their disgusting little flappy bodies make me want to die.”
“Big moths are kinda cute,” Shaun said. “They’re all furry and soft-looking, and their wings are pretty.”
“All right, freak,” DJ said. “I hope you and Mothman will be happy together.”
“I didn’t say I wanted to fuck the moths, Deej.”
Kit was too wrung out and raw for their usual brand of relentless humour. “Right. So, currently my boyfriend is unconscious on the floor, and we don’t know if Lawrence will be gone when he wakes up again. We should get going.”
Shaun and DJ looked abashed. “They’ll behave,” Rake said, spearing both of his subs with a look that was far too sexually charged for Kit to take seriously.
Kit sighed. “You can fuck out all this”—he waved a dismissive hand—“tension when we get back to the cottage.”
“Where are the ghosts? And what are we going to do with him?” Shaun asked, looking at Quin’s prone body.
“I don’t know what happened to the ghosts,” Kit replied, then waited a beat to see if they might appear. When nothing stirred in the manor, he continued. “As for Quin, I brought the chains with me.” He’d stuck them in the boot and hoped he wouldn’t have to make any use of them.
“Chains?” Rake asked, sounding far too interested.
“Quin sometimes uses them when he shifts,” Kit explained.
“Stops his beast from running amok. But until I know Lawrence isn’t in control of him…
” he trailed off, eyes darting around. He’d lost sight of Xavier’s ring in the face-off, but it took only a second to spot it on the floor under the painting.
Picking it up, he turned it over in his hand, weighing his options.
He wasn’t certain how Lawrence had removed it, but it seemed intact.
Worth putting back on Quin, he reckoned.
With a careful hand, Kit slid the ring onto Quin’s pinky before standing up and dusting his clothes off.
“We’ll carry Quin outside,” Rake said, elbowing DJ from his state of inertia.
“Should we come in the car with you?” Shaun asked as DJ picked Quin up under the armpits, and Rake grabbed his legs.
Kit thought about it for a second. “Yeah. Just in case.”
They ended up buckling Quin behind where Shaun sat in the passenger seat, with Rake taking up the position beside him in the back.
This left DJ to drive the other car alone, but given Kit could hear him singing along to a show tune the second he got in, he assumed DJ was happy enough.
Nothing seemed to faze him, not even facing the vampire who’d murdered him.
As if to prove Kit’s point, DJ took off first, screaming out onto the dirt road and disappearing before Kit had even turned his own car on. Rake muttered something about DJ’s recklessness, and Kit tried not to think about what punishment DJ would be in for later.
Kit took one last look at the manor before reversing and turning the car. The building seemed stiller than before, like it was truly empty. But then the faint sound of tinkling, childlike laughter drifted through the air.
Kit drove to the rented cottage with a chill prickling at the back of his neck the entire way.