The Haunted Victorian #7
Then, a whisper. "Tell me. What am I?"
It's too strange. But I say the only thing that comes to mind, though I know it's not right. "The feathers… you're a bird?"
"I am no bird. I'm no ghost. I am Phoenix, and I rise from the ashes."
My stomach drops. He's not real. He can't be. None of this is real.
I rarely leave the house. Maybe I didn't go out to dinner a few nights ago. Or I did and had an accident on the way home. Natural disaster? Chemical spill?
Car crash?
Did I die?
Is this what death is?
There's cold at my back and the heat at my front.
Should I be this horny in the afterlife?
"This can't be happening." I can't face yet another supernatural thing.
I try to regroup, because those feathers are moving back into his skin, and that's real.
It's right there in front of me. I can write off strange things with Eric all day long, but Nix is real, and he's right here in front of me. I'm certain of it.
"Okay… okay," I chant to myself. I can do this. "So… you can't be killed."
"Correct."
"So, Eric did kill you? Or, would have, if you weren't a bird?" I feel the ghost tense at my back, a burst of cold rushing through me, breezing the hair off my neck.
"Phoenix," he snaps. He ignores my question and asks one of his own. "Regretting you didn't lure home a human? Is this what you two do? You let your wraith kill unsuspecting victims?"
"No!" I protest.
"Make them fall for you. Crawl to you. Lose themselves between your legs. Lose their minds and their hearts, while your cold lover steals their souls?"
"No! It's only happened once before. Well, twice, technically, but that was an accident!"
Nix brushes past me, shoving me aside. He storms through the house, stomping his heavy boots over broken glass. The low light bounces off the distorted mirrors.
Obviously not knowing where he's going, he halts at the entrance to one of the sitting rooms before pivoting toward the kitchen. Anger radiates off of him, as intense as the heat he projects. I chase after him, despite Eric's cold hands trying to hold me back.
My bare feet squish over Nix's muddy footprints. "What are you doing?" I ask, finding Nix in the kitchen, stripping off his torn clothes. The feathers are still retreating slowly, but they cover his legs in smaller pieces, hiding his cock.
Wait… they aren't hiding it. He… doesn't have one? Where did it go?
"What does it look like?"
"Huh? Oh." I shake my head, confused. Four nights ago, it was there. Right there, between his legs, where it should have been. And now, there's nothing… Now I'm distracted and I can't remember the question. "The, umm. Huh? Oh, why are you—what are you doing?"
Nix glares at me, then at Eric, who's still behind me. He's exerted a lot of energy tonight, and can't do much but hover, but I can feel his anger. And his fear. It's not new; I've felt it before. Whenever we talk about his time over the last few decades, stuck in this house with his killer.
Nix tosses his dirty clothes in the trash, then rips open the fridge, pulling out a jug of orange juice.
He twists off the cap, tilts his head back, and glugs the whole thing down.
I watch his neck, which was close shaven, now covered in a soft layer of days' old growth, black hair ready to grow into a wild beard crawling down his neck.
I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows.
Why is watching a thirsty man drink so attractive?
When he finishes the juice, he slams the empty container onto the counter.
The soft, black downy feathers on his legs have slowly retreated, revealing big, brawny thighs and golden skin.
And I can't tear my eyes away when, as the feathers retreat, a small hole between his legs becomes visible, and slowly, like a nature video I should feel ashamed for unabashedly staring at, his cock pokes through the hole.
It grows longer and longer, soft, his skin raw and shiny, the tip pointed in a flaccid, uncircumcised cock.
"Oh," I whisper, like an idiot.
Eric grips me again. I can feel his desperation, wanting me to get away from Nix, who just crosses his arms, tilts his head and watches me in amusement.
"Your wraith is jealous."
"He's always jealous," I admit, before I can hold back the words.
I cringe and look away. Then I shake my head, because maybe I am losing my mind, but if I'm not, and this is all real…
"Look. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. About what happened.
I really… That night was special. It was amazing, actually. "
"You knew what he'd do," he accuses.
I shake my head vehemently. "No! No. I mean, not really. That's why I brought you outback, to the gazebo. He can't go out there. Or, I thought he couldn't. I don't know. I wanted you. God, I wanted you. And I fucked everything up."
Eric's arms wrap around my stomach possessively. The urge to apologize to him is there, and it makes me feel even more horrible, because I can't keep doing this with him.
"Did he tell you that?" Nix cocks his head to one side, now looking distinctly human. Even the wings are folding, growing smaller, retreating into his shoulders and back.
"Tell me what?"
"That he can't go out there."
"Oh. No. I mean, kind of. We can't really… communication is difficult. But he doesn't go out there. He never has. He follows me everywhere, except there. I just assumed."
Nix stares over my shoulder. Without looking at me, he says, "He doesn't go out there because that's where she chopped up his body. Greta? Who was she?" His eyes flick back to mine.
"She what?" I gasp. That's terrible. No wonder he never goes back there. How awful. Then, "Wait, you can hear him?"
Nix nods slowly. "Your aunt, huh? Tough break." I turn to look at Eric, realizing they're having an entire conversation without me. This is fucking surreal.
I'm about to ask Nix a million questions—How can he talk to Eric, is it possible for me, too? What is he saying? What does he sound like?—when Nix shrugs, then abruptly stomps back through my house.
The lights flicker, and I turn and chase after the phoenix.
Nix
Dina follows as I storm through her house in search of a bathroom, her tiny little steps running after me.
I almost remind her to be careful of the glass, but I'm so angry with her, I think I'd relish tearing her feet up on the broken mirrors, if for no other reason than for me to tie her to a chair and lick the blood off her precious skin.
The wraith chases, reaching out, trying and failing to hold her back, but she either doesn't notice, and their connection isn't as strong as she thinks, or she's ignoring him completely.
Both make me happy.
I'm angry with the wraith, too, and I intend to collect for his surprise attack while I was sleeping beneath the stars with Dina in my arms.
I walk through her house of horrors, admiring the mirrors and the darkness.
I love how vile and fucked up this place is; the death seeping out of the walls.
On the outside, it's picturesque. Clean shutters, a big rose garden, the last house at the end of a quaint street leading up to the ocean.
But inside, it's another fucking dimension.
Dark and twisted, full of secrets. Just like Dina.
I knew she was telling the truth when she said the wraith was responsible for the deaths—for my death, because that's the one I really care about—but she isn't exactly innocent, either. She may seem the wholesome type, with her cute cotton pajamas, messy hair, and girl-next-door vibes.
But I'd bet my very long life that beneath the surface, Dina's almost as fucked up as I am.
I'll find that kernel of darkness deep in her soul, and make it mine. I'll help it blossom and unfurl, nurture it, until she embodies everything I've ever dreamed of.
Years alone I've walked this earth, unable to share my life with another, knowing—through experience—that a human partner could never understand what it means to be with a phoenix, a conqueror of death.
By sheer luck, I stopped in this town for dinner, wanting to see the coast before I headed inland. And there she was at that restaurant, oblivious to our souls intertwining. I don't know if I believe in soulmates, but the moment I saw her, I knew.
I didn't care what catastrophes I'd left of relationships in the past, how easily humans feared that which they didn't understand.
I adored this girl and her wholesome darkness, naively saying yes when I asked to join her for dinner, totally unaware of how prepared I was to wrap her up in my wings for safekeeping, so I could take her out and play with her whenever I wanted.
Little did I know she already had a plaything of her own.
She thinks Eric, with his penchant for possessive violence, is the one who holds all the cards. She'd be wrong.
That wraith is a simpering little submissive, stars in his eyes and a full belly of pent up ghostly cum just waiting to unleash when she asserts herself.
It's going to be fun dominating them both.
Finally, I locate a bathroom with a shower at the end of a long dark hall, after several wrong turns. I turn the water on the hottest setting and step into the ceramic clawfoot tub, hissing when the water hits my raw skin. Regeneration's a bitch.
Though my skin was undamaged when Eric killed me—I've been killed in many-a-messy ways over the centuries—my skin still regenerates with each rebirth, first sprouting feathers, my protective, natural form, before they retreat within my body, revealing my human sheath.
My cock is the last to reform, and I delighted in watching Dina's eyes bulge out while it emerged from my phoenix form's cloacal hole. What a vixen. I laugh through the stream, and the sound echoes into the cold, empty room.
Dina followed me to the bathroom. After I turned on the water, she left me alone, but not before leaving a set of clothes on the counter. I can tell just by looking at them, they likely belonged to some victim of the infamous Greta's.