Epilogue
Hell House Client Brief: The devil is in the details...and the basement.
Shepherd rolled off Kel and fell back onto the bed. He stretched out on the black silk sheets, fitting his toes into the gouges on the baseboard. There was no uneasy sense of something malicious waiting under the bed, and he felt a moment’s guilt.
They really did need to be more considerate. This was its home too.
But for now, apologies could wait. They were tangled in sheets that smelled like sex and just a hint of sulfur, and Hell hadn’t processed Kel’s intake yet, so they had all the time in the world.
Shepherd rested his head on Kel’s chest and listened to his heart settle back down into something close to normal.
At the same time, Kel ran his fingers idly through Shepherd’s hair.
“So,” Kel said eventually. “I own a farm.”
Shepherd didn’t want to move. He did roll his eyes up to give Kel a sceptical look.
“Why?”
Kel started to answer, stopped, and thought about it more. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I had the smoke and I could, so…didn’t really think beyond that. Anyhow, I own a farm, and I need to keep it running for a few years to keep the bank happy.”
“Do you know anything about farming?”
“No,” Kel admitted. “You do, though, right?”
Shepherd wasn’t sure what to do with that. He wasn’t used to people knowing things about him. He sat up, sheets puddled in his lap, and looked at Kel.
“Did I ever tell you the part where they were going to sacrifice me for a good harvest?” he said. “They weren’t good at farming is what I’m saying.”
“And I’m saying that…farmsitting isn’t all that different from housesitting,” Kel said. “I can’t leave, and if you wanted a reason to stay…”
“You’re my reason to stay,” Shepherd said. “What you’re talking about is an excuse to stay.”
Kel shrugged. “I guess I am.”
Shepherd was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. He’d hated growing up on the farm, the dirt and the death and the blood under his fingernails all the time. But he’d been good at it, and he loved a good routine.
"Does it have to be a working farm?” he asked.
“What else would it be?” Kel asked.
Shepherd traced the faded burn scar on Kel’s throat, picking out the shape of Easy’s fingers as he thought about his options. Renfield’s had the market on concierge services, but there were other ‘ins’ to the service industry that might be profitable.
“I’ve got some ideas—”
The doorbell rang before he could finish.
“I’ll think about it,” he said as he went to swing his legs out of the bed.
Kel pulled him back down onto the mattress. His hand slid down Shepherd’s ribs to his hips and then wrapped around his cock.
“Leave it,” Kel said as he kissed his way down Shepherd’s throat. “Let me finish my pitch.”
Shepherd groaned as he lifted his hips into Kel’s touch.
The doorbell rang again. This time they both ignored it.
Shepherd pulled his T-shirt on as he padded down the hall toward the front door.
Upstairs, he could hear Kel swearing at the books.
He scrubbed his hand through his hair and opened the door.
He looked down at the doorstep, and Shithead glared up at him.
Her hair on one side of her head was frizzled down to black char, and someone had repaired the crack in her face with staples and putty.
There was a palpable sense of smugness about her at the fact that Hell had only lasted six weeks before it banned her.
Even the doggie day care place had lasted longer than that.
Shepherd dropped into a crouch and reached out to pick her up. One hand had been replaced with a crudely carved wood limb that dangled ominous and heavy from her sleeve.
“What time do you call this?” he asked as he straightened back up. “I missed you.”
Shithead felt disgusted at him.
“Please, you died for me…the house is not your best friend. I don’t know why you think that’s a better reason.” He tucked her under his arm as he got the mail from the box and went through it on his way to the kitchen.
Mixed in with the flyers and bills—all addressed to the Laker House, so the infernal bureaucracy had finally updated that for reality—was a postcard. Shepherd set Shithead and the rest of the mail down on the table as he looked it over.
“...when did that get back?” Kel asked, a bit aggrieved as he came into the kitchen. Then he noticed what Shepherd had in his hands. “Is that from Ruby? How’s the cruise going?”
Shepherd held the postcard out for Kel to take.
“She seems to be having fun,” he said. “But this one isn’t from her.”
Kel took it and glanced at the photo on the front. Ruby grinned from over a fruit-packed cocktail, her arm looped around an impish old man's shoulders. He was leaning into her like they'd known each other for years.
Then he turned it over and read the back. It didn’t take long. The message was short.
Thanks for taking care of everything! Me and Dot are catching up and having fun. I told her you’d not need our help.
Proud of you! Back soon.
‘Dad’.
“...this was his con,” Kel said as he set the card down. “This whole thing, he set it all up right from the start. He set me up.”
Shepherd wasn’t sure if Kel was pissed off or impressed. He supposed there was time enough to work that out before Dio got home.
…and what ‘home’ did the old necromancer mean? Marble Falls or Hell House?