Amaranthine

Chapter 4

"This way." Jorick beckoned to Katelina and ducked through the low doorframe and deeper into the house - an elegant shadow cutting through the gloom.

She still felt dazed, but as he drew further away the darkness in the room thickened. She tugged out her cell and flashed the light around, but it was a poor imitation of the warm candlelight. Imagined monsters lurked in the shadowy corners and suddenly Jorick seemed more appealing company - he might be a psychopath but at least he was a real person.

She hurried to catch up to him. The next room was as abandoned as the first. The only contents were a large empty trunk and copious amounts of cobwebs that traced along the stained peeling walls and the dirty windows. There was no way Jorick could live in that house.

So what is he doing here?

When they came at last to a padlocked door, Jorick fished a key from his pocket that slid neatly into the lock. The tiny click echoed, magnified by the heavy stillness.

"I don't often entertain company," he said in lieu of an apology as he swung the door open and headed down a set of wooden stairs.

Katelina hesitated. She'd seen enough horror movies to know what the basement represented. There was probably a torture chamber down there, and she wasn't going to walk glibly into it! She imagined Sarah's eye roll. "That's just a movie, Katelina! This is real life, not TV." The imagined Sarah was probably right. This Jorick, whoever he was, knew Patrick, so chances were he was just squatting in an abandoned house. That was the kind of company Patrick had kept. Not really dangerous, just- weird.

She clutched the cell, her finger on the emergency button, and forced herself down the stairs. Jorick waited for her at the bottom, and when she reached him he offered her another tight smile, no doubt meant to be soothing. Her eyes snapped from his face to a nearby pile of wooden crates. The rest of the basement was lost to thick shadows with no discernable furniture. If he was staying there where was he sleeping? Where was his bedroll and all the flotsam and jetsam that squatters piled up?

Apparently impervious to her turmoil, he said slowly, "I believe that now is the time to ask how much you knew - or think you knew - about your lover?"

Lover. She wished he'd quit using that word, though she supposed it was better than f**k buddy. As to what she knew about Patrick, she didn't know much. They had a deal limiting how much they shared; how involved they were. It had never sat well with her, but there it was.

"I knew enough," she answered evasively.

Jorick's expression was serious. "Do you know where he spent his Friday nights?"

She shrugged. "He said he played poker. Look, I just want to know - "

He cut her off mid-sentence. "Before we begin, I think you need to be sure that you really want to know. The things you'll find out... well, at the very least, they'll change your perception of your lover. At the most they'll change your perception of the world. Do you understand? You probably won't believe me at first, not because it's impossible, but because you won't want to believe me. Then will come the moment when it all becomes clear for you, when the truth stands out glaringly from the rest of the mess that we call life and reality. Then you may not like it anymore."

His speech was ridiculously overdramatic, like something from a late night TV drama. But, the serious expression on his face scared her just a little. What kind of secret did Patrick have? Did she want to know? Would it change anything, or make anything better? He'd still be dead, and the police wouldn't arrest the murderer on her word alone - and probably not on Jorick's, either. Still-

She surveyed him coolly. There were only a couple of things she could think of that would radically change her opinion of Patrick, and none of them were pretty. But, if Patrick had been a monster of some kind, then so be it.

"I think I can handle it." She crossed her arms over her chest and dared him to argue.

"Are you sure? I'm not trying to frighten you or mislead you, but it may be a lot to take in at one time."

Katelina met his gaze head on, her face stubborn. "I'm sure. Go ahead and tell me."

Jorick gestured to the dusty stairs. "You might want to sit down first."

"No, thank you. I think I'm okay where I am."

"All right." He set the candle on the floor, then leaned casually back against the wooden crates, his expression thoughtful. "I wonder if you've ever met Patrick's brother, Michael?"

Patrick had only spoken of his brother on a handful of occasions, and always with pity and regret. They'd technically gone to school together, but he'd been a year or two younger and she couldn't remember having ever interacted with him. "No."

"Michael is the younger of the brothers, and not the smarter. He was too inquisitive for his own good and discovered the secret of someone... someone very powerful." He grimaced and then relented, as though being completely vague would be too hard. "His name was Claudius. Michael confronted him and, needless to say, it wasn't well received. In order to guarantee that Michael stayed quiet, he was forced into. . ." Jorick hesitated, ". . . servitude, and in a sense Michael dragged Patrick into it as well. Every Friday night, Claudius would throw very exclusive, very expensive parties and Patrick and Michael were little more than his servants at them."

Katelina felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. So much for earth shattering revelations "So? He got involved with some kind of gang."

A partial laugh escaped Jorick's tight lips. "So he really did tell you nothing. No, it wasn't a gang. I believe the word you want is coven."

"A coven? You mean like witchcraft? Freaky cults and stuff?" That was a surprise. Though it made sense. Patrick had held some weird ideas and had often had a paranoid, haunted look in his eyes. She'd had no idea that there were any cults around there.

"Not exactly a cult, but that definition will work for now." He waved her to silence before she could ask what he meant. "At one of these parties, Michael started talking about things he shouldn't; specifically, people he should never have mentioned. Claudius likes to control people through fear, and the fear of harm befalling your loved ones is a very, very good motivator. Michael mentioned to the wrong people that Patrick was in love with you and - "

"Excuse me?" Why was Patrick's brother discussing her in the first place, and why did he say- Patrick didn't love her. They were casual! They'd agreed. Time and again they'd promised each other that it meant nothing. No commitment, no feelings, no attachment. That had been the deal - his deal. He'd insisted on it, made it clear it was that or nothing. And she'd agreed; not only agreed but kept her half of the bargain. Any time she'd felt close to him she'd reminded herself that he wasn't the kind of guy she could love. He had too much past and no future. The only way he was going was down; he just wasn't "boyfriend" material. He was made for casual affairs. He was- he was-

"Love?"