Chapter One
It was exactly the sort of place you’d expect to see a monster. A lonely mountain road, a forest so old it creaked. Hell, it was even a dark and stormy night. Or dark and snowy, anyway. But the way the wind was hurling restless flurries against the windshield as the trees swayed vengefully overhead was enough to put even the most assured traveler on edge.
Julien Doran had never felt less sure of anything in his life, and he’d hit that edge at a running jump about two weeks and two thousand miles ago. Right around the time he’d turned his back on everything—the shambled remains of his family, career and common sense—at the suggestion of a dead man.
He might still get lucky. He might never make it to the elusive Maudit Falls and instead spend the rest of eternity driving up and down these mountain roads until, eventually, he’d become just another one of the dozens of urban legends the area seemed to collect like burs.
They could call him Old Doran. The Fallen Star. Forty-four years of carefully toeing the line distilled down to this one inarguably absurd decision, and told at bedtime to frighten children into obedience. Don’t you know better than to throw your life away on a lie, little one? Do you want to end up like Old Doran? A man who turned down the first role he’d been offered in four years to instead take a secret flight across the country. A man who thought he could open a wound so recently closed, it still wept at the edges. A man who went looking for a monster.
Listen, they’d say. If you listen really closely, you can still hear his voice echoing through the mountains, calling out, What am I doing here? What did I think I could change? Did I miss my turn?
Julien glanced at the GPS on his phone, but it was still caught in an endless limbo of loading, the service having cut out about fifteen minutes ago.
“The town proper is on the other side of the mountain,” the clerk at the last rest stop had told him. A woman with metallic-rose eyeshadow, a name tag that said Chloe and the unmoving smile of someone sick of delivering the same canned dialogue to every wide-eyed, monster-hunting tourist who passed through. “You’ll see plenty of signs for Blue Tail Lodge as long as you stay on the main road. But whatever you do, don’t get out of your car after dark. That’s when Sweet Pea is his most dangerous.”
Chloe had gestured with rote unenthusiasm to the huge display by the counter. A rack covered in souvenirs, and a six-foot-tall cardboard cutout of an ominous, pitch-black figure with glowing green eyes. It had hooves for feet, long, delicate claws instead of hands and the flat face of a primate, obscured by shadow. The figure was standing up on two legs but sort of stooped over, arms held awkwardly as if caught midway through dancing the monster mash.
“Mr. Pea, I presume,” Julien had said, reaching out to touch one long cardboard claw. Then he pretended to shake its hand and added in a deep, formal voice, “Mr. Pea’s my father. Please, call me Sweet.”
Chloe’s smile hadn’t flickered, which was very fair. Rocky would have known what to say. He would have known the right questions to ask, the right words to use, the best attitude to strike to get Chloe on his side, talking and spilling secrets that couldn’t be sold on a souvenir rack.
“Have you ever seen it?”
“Me? No.” Chloe shook her head. “But my sister’s ex was out hunting and swears it passed right through the campsite. Tore into his cooler and stole all his coyote traps.”
“Wow. That’s...” The way it always was. No, I’ve never seen anything. But my dentist’s kid’s teacher’s nephew woke up in the woods with less beer than he’d remembered packing and a missing ham sandwich. Alert the media—they walk among us. “That’s something.”
“Are you in Maudit for—”
“The skiing,” Julien cut her off quickly, and launched into his own canned dialogue, taking the opposite approach to Chloe, his voice a little too bright, smile too mobile, overselling his story. “I would never have thought of North Carolina for it, but a friend recommended the slopes here. He said it’s snow without having to freeze your, ah, nose off.”
“We get our fair share. And plenty more than that up the mountain,” she said, watching him closely, the beginnings of the same frustration in her eyes he’d seen in dozens of people trying to place the face behind the glasses, the fading stubble, the lines that grief and age had carved in unequal measure around his eyes like permanent tear tracks. “I’d pack an extra pair of thermals if you’re skiing Blue Tail this weekend, though. For your, ah, nose? There’s a cold front coming.” She tapped the box of single-use heat packs by the register pointedly and Julien dutifully placed a handful on the counter.
He attempted a casual nod at the looming cutout. “Why ‘Sweet Pea’? Not exactly the most intimidating name.”
“Well, he doesn’t need it, does he? Anyone around here knows you don’t want to be caught out at night with a monster like that, whatever you want to call it.” She plucked a deck of novelty playing cards off the display and placed them on the counter next to the heat packs. “Everything you need to know about Maudit Falls and its most infamous residents is in here. Only $21.99. You know, something to do when you’re not skiing.” That’s when her eyes had widened in genuine excitement. “Hey, aren’t you...”
Of course he’d bought them. How could he not? Sweet Pea wasn’t the monster he was hunting. But it was why Rocky had first come to Maudit Falls, and Julien was here because of him. Why else would he book a vacation in a town whose idea of a fun roadside souvenir was fifty-two spooky local legends? Why else had he done anything at all this last waking nightmare of a year?
Now, as he took a particularly sharp curve up the narrow mountain road, Julien wished he’d left the cards behind and bought a map instead. One a little easier to follow than what Rocky
had left for him. This simply could not be the way into town. It wasn’t even plowed, for goodness’ sake. Just sort of tamped down, which gave the road a colorless, unfinished look. Like nature itself had been peeled back to expose a slippery layer of quilt batting. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he’d passed any paths more traveled. There’d been one unmarked turnoff that couldn’t have been anything but a service road. That or the perfect set for the first ten minutes of a horror film, which might still be the case considering the seriously questionable choices that had led him to—
An animal leapt in front of the car. Julien had a split second to register the huge, dark shape darting out of the woods, the twin reflection of headlights bouncing off inhuman eyes, staring directly at him, before he jerked the wheel instinctively to the right at the same time a thud rang in his ears.
Weightless slipping. The feeling of suddenly being airborne without getting out of your seat. And then the car dropped down with tooth-cracking finality, directly into the snowy ditch.
For a long moment the world felt impossibly still and silent. Empty. He couldn’t hear himself breathing. He couldn’t hear himself think. Julien lay against the steering wheel, dazed, pain-free and peaceful for the first time in over a year. Then, like a lever giving way, his body sucked in an agonizing gasp of air. With it, the gears of his brain began to grind once more, and it all came flooding back.
“No, no, no,” Julien whispered. He disentangled himself from the locked-up seat belt and opened the door, barely thinking, and then had to catch it when the gravity of the tilted car sent it hurtling back into his shin. Julien climbed quickly out of the ditch and stumbled down the road, unusually clumsy. “Please no. Please, please, please.” His hands were shaking, a low, constant tremble, and his arms felt so light, so flimsy that he had the nonsensical urge to let them float above his head, like untying two trapped balloons.
Julien squeezed his fists tight at his sides. Enough. Do something. No one else will. He scanned the road, walking back to where he’d swerved, looking for the animal. Not wanting to see it—needing to find it.
But there was nothing there.
Julien found the gouged snow, dark with dirt where he’d first slammed on the brakes and skidded off the road, but that was the only sign of the violence he’d braced himself for. No body or blood. No fur or feathers. No sign that he’d hit anything at all. Except he had.
Hadn’t he? That awful soft thud. Not soft in volume but in texture, if sound could have such a thing. Body-soft. Maybe it hadn’t been hurt. He hadn’t been going fast. Not at all. Even slower than the limit, with all this snow. Maybe the animal had been able to roll over the car and just keep running?
Julien stalked from one side of the road to the other as if he’d find some clue as to what to do now. As if the animal might have left a note with a sad face and its insurance information. He’d never hit anything before in his life. If it had been there in the road, he could call
...animal control? Some sort of wildlife rehab, maybe? But would they send someone to hike into the woods at nine at night to track down a wild animal that may be injured or may be fine?
Julien blew out a long breath that clouded in the air and reluctantly walked back to the car. With no cell service it was a moot point. He’d need to hike down the road until he could get bars, anyway. He’d need a tow truck, too. The very top of the windshield was shattered and long cracks ran like roots over the rest of the glass. The rental company wouldn’t be pleased.
The right front corner of the car was flattened, as well. A pool of headlight glass was sprinkled like multicolored confetti in the snow. Congratulations! You fucked up big-time! Oddly, there wasn’t any other sign of damage in the front. Not that Julien could tell. Nothing on the hood either. Almost as if the only point of impact was the windshield. Was that even possible? If so, maybe the animal really was less injured than he’d feared.
Julien got closer to examine the roof. Even with the car at this awkward angle he was tall enough to see two distinct dents, right in the center. “What the hell?”
Julien ran his hand over one. It was about the size of his palm but distinct. More than a mere ding. As if something heavy had...what? Landed on its feet, then launched itself into the air and kept running? The paint was scratched, too. Four short contrails behind each dent.
Carefully he dragged his own four fingers down the white marks, and the back of his neck prickled as if someone was watching him.
Julien turned, scanning the road and the dark forest beyond. “Hello?”
Barely more than a whisper, his voice still sounded disrespectfully loud. It was only then he realized just how quiet the surrounding woods were. Unnaturally quiet. Like every living thing was collectively holding its breath.
Julien took a couple steps into the road, and his boots made a soft creaking sound on the tightly packed snow. “Hello? Is someone there?”
No one answered. Nothing made a sound. Well, of course not. What had he expected? Sweet Pea to waltz out of the trees doing his best Lurch impression? You rang?
Julien snorted at his own uneasiness. What did he know about the natural amount of noise wild animals were supposed to make, anyway? The closest he ever got to nature in L.A. was when his ex-wife Frankie sent weekly photos of Wilbur the mountain lion sneaking over her fence at night to drink out of the pool. He’d gotten one early that morning in the airport getting ready to board.
Call me back. I’m worried about you. And so is Wilbur!
He’d call her eventually. When he had good news. Or at least something better than this. If he told her he was in Maudit, he’d have to explain why, and right now he couldn’t even explain it to himself. He couldn’t even think it without wondering if the whispers were true. That maybe after years of being wound so tight, something in him really had just snapped.
Julien hauled his bag out of the car, ignoring the subsequent ache in his chest where the seat belt had bit into muscle and skin. There wasn’t any sense second-guessing it now. He was either going to find what he was looking for in Maudit Falls or he wasn’t. If the latter
was true, he’d have proof that Rocky had been wrong, and there was nothing hidden on this mountain but superstition and perilous infrastructure. And if the former...well. He’d cross that bridge when he came to it. Hopefully in a working car.
Either way, he wasn’t going to find anything sitting around alone in the dark. He’d done plenty of that these last fourteen months already. Julien began the long trek back down the road, phone in hand.
Ten minutes later, the cold air killed his battery.
“Dammit,” Julien whispered. Then, wondering why he was bothering to whisper, yelled it again as loud as he could, followed by a string of every curse he knew. Considering his upbringing on the back lots of Hollywood, that occupied a significant amount of walking time.
It took another fifteen minutes of swearing before Julien finally came across the lone turnoff he’d passed before. Maudit Falls Retreat, claimed a very discreet wooden sign tucked back into the woods. It wasn’t abandoned or a service road at all—it was some sort of place of lodging. Julien felt a wave of relief. Here there’d be people, power, maybe even a bed for the night, if he couldn’t get a ride on to Blue Tail Lodge. Julien took the turn.
Even less effort had been made to clear the snow, and soon the legs of his jeans were soaked with frigid water. He began to shiver and his fingers felt thick and clumsy with cold. Despite the urge to break into a jog and get the hell out of the dark already, Julien stuck his hands under his armpits and kept his steady, careful pace. He’d hardly be able to tell people he was here for the skiing with a broken ankle. When researching the area, there hadn’t been anything online about a Maudit Falls Retreat. No mention of it in Rocky’s notes either. Hopefully that meant it was a small, word-of-mouth bed-and-breakfast as opposed to shut down entirely.
Five minutes later, he realized neither was true as the road spilled into a clearing in front of a large, gorgeous building.
“What are you doing hiding all the way out here?” Julien murmured, impressed despite himself. Two stories, expansive and surrounded by a wraparound porch, the retreat was a mass of polished wood, stone and glass. Most of the front seemed to be windows, and past the reflected moonlight, Julien could make out a low light inside. He tried the heavy wooden double doors, and to his relief they opened.
The lobby was even prettier than the outside—soothing in juxtaposition to the intimidating exterior. The back of the room was mostly taken up by a large wooden reception desk while to the side a couple of comfortable-looking chairs and a couch were centered around an enormous stone fireplace. Wide pine plank floors were polished to a soft gleam that reflected the light of the fire burning low. That and an old-fashioned green glass desk lamp were the only sources of light. The room was completely empty.
“Hello?” Julien called out. His voice echoed and seemed to get lost up in the high rafters. “Is anyone here?”
Julien
walked up to the desk. A large painting of a waterfall hung behind it. The titular Maudit Falls, perhaps? The canvas was a violent mess of blues and purples and a lone figure stood on a cliff’s edge with their arms extended, as if begging with the water, as if this very scene was where the falls had got its cursed name.
Vaguely unsettled, Julien called out again. “I’ve had some car trouble!”
Silence. A bed was starting to look unlikely. He walked toward the open door at the back of the lobby and peered into the darkness. He opened his mouth to call out again, but something stopped him.
Julien took a few steps into the hall, squinting into the gloom. There was an open door on the right, and he peered around the corner. “Is someone there?”
A pair of reflective inhuman eyes stared back at him and Julien yelled out, stumbling backward. The eyes jumped to the ground with a soft thud and a cat darted between his ankles and scurried into the lobby.
“Fuck.” Julien exhaled and laughed at himself.
He felt a little ridiculous, but also reluctant to wander farther into the building. Because it’d be rude, and not because his heart had thus far only sunk back down to the general vicinity of his throat, of course. All he needed was a working phone, anyway. Or power. Surely no one would mind that. Julien walked quickly back into the lobby and, with only a second’s hesitation, helped himself behind the reception desk. The sooner he could make a call, the sooner he’d be out of here.
There was no landline. But, crouching, he found the outlet the desk lamp was plugged into, deep at the back of a low shelf, and quickly got his charger out of his duffel and his cell hooked up. As he stood, the Sweet Pea card deck fell from his pocket and bounced out of sight. Julien knelt to retrieve it, and yelled a second time when a furry little paw darted out from under the desk and snagged the back of his hand.
“Fuck’s sake,” Julien sighed. “You know, so far I’m not too impressed by Southern hospitality.” He got even lower to peer under the bottom shelf and sure enough found the same cat staring back at him smugly, card deck half tucked under its chest.
“If you’re down there looking for a bed that’s just right, Goldilocks, mine’s upstairs.”
A man’s voice. Behind him. Julien shot up to his knees so quickly he would have smashed his head into the desk’s top ledge if not for the warm, soft hand suddenly cupping his crown just long enough to act as a buffer between his skull and the wood, then gone. The only proof it had been there at all was a faint tingle where he’d been touched and the distinct absence of a painful head.
“Thanks. Hell, you sca-scared me,” Julien stuttered. For half a second it looked like the man standing over him had blank, colorless eyes, as flat as the cat’s. But then he shifted his weight and Julien could see it was just a trick of the light. They were a perfectly conventional gray. Nice-looking, even, though perhaps a little washed out in a pale face framed by black hair. Slightly less conventional was the dangerously short, peacock blue silk dressing gown he wore over, Christ, nothing at all, if the cling of that fabric wasn’t lying.
“
My apologies.” The man cleared his throat politely and Julien tore his gaze back up, embarrassed. “I’m not up to date on the proper etiquette for interrupting a thief. It seems an invitation to bed only terrifies one half to death. How disappointing for the ego.” He squinted at Julien critically. “To be fair, a keen-eyed observer might argue you looked about three-quarters of the way there on your own. To death, that is, not to bed.”
Julien gaped, unsure what to feel more offended by first. At least the critics had the heart to call him names behind his back. “I’m not a thief,” he said finally, because it wasn’t a crime to look old and worn-out quite yet.
“A housebreaker, then,” the man said, inspecting one of his own fingernails with a bored expression. “An interloper. Persona non grata, though admittedly you look very grata indeed from this angle.”
Julien felt warmth spread down his defrosting body and he quickly pulled himself to standing. The bruise across his chest throbbed and he had to bite back a grunt of pain—unsuccessfully it seemed, from the way the man’s eyes narrowed with curiosity.
“You’re bleeding.” It was a statement, not a question, and Julien glanced down at the back of his hand, surprised the man had noticed.
“Your cat scratched me.”
“If you’re hoping to sue, I should tell you her owner is on his honeymoon and would react poorly to being interrupted.”
“Of course I’m not going to sue.”
“In that case it’s nothing less than you deserve, you trespassing fiend.”
“I’m sorry,” Julien said haltingly. “I was under the impression that this was a hotel.”
The man ran his hand over the wood of the desk with a thoughtful expression. “Is this the impression you were under? See, I would have called it a desk, myself, but then I’m a simple, straightforward sort of soul. What you see is what you get.”
“Well, I can see quite a bit,” Julien muttered under his breath, and to his surprise the man grinned and just leaned back against the wall, causing the robe to slip even higher up his legs.
“And what exactly were you hoping to get all the way down there?” He seemed totally untroubled to be practically naked in front of a stranger. Maybe soaking wet, half-frozen and three-quarters of the way to death, Julien didn’t look very intimidating. Maybe the man felt physically secure with his younger body and thick, powerful-looking thighs.
The tingling on Julien’s scalp where the man had touched him intensified and he dragged an impatient hand through his hair. “I was looking for an outlet to charge my phone.”
“But of course you were. I’ve been known to get on my hands and knees for the sake of an outlet myself. Carry on, Raffles.” The man tilted his head to the side, studying Julien in a lazy, knowing sort of way. “Unless you need someone to play Bunny?”
It was the sort of over-the-top flirting men did when they were utterly certain it wouldn’t go anywhere. Teasing and unserious with no genuine interest. Meant to fluster and nothing else.
“I said I’m not a thief,” Julien said tightly, suddenly feeling as weary and washed-up as he apparently looked. The crash must be catching up with him. “I’m sorry; it’s been a hell of a long day.”
He thrust his hand out, then quickly retreated when the man simply regarded it with a single raised eyebrow. Fair enough.
“My name’s Julien. I’m on my way to the ski lodge, but had an accident a little ways up the road. My phone’s dead, so I hiked down this way and saw the sign and, well, yes, I came in and helped myself to the power. I’m sorry if I surprised you or made you uncomfortable at all.” He could hardly say it with a straight face. The man didn’t look like he knew the meaning of the word discomfort. “Are you a, uh, guest here? Owner?”
“No.” The man smiled sharply. He had a small heart-shaped mouth that gave his whole face a sort of pointy, foxy look. “I’m a thief.” His gaze flickered toward the door with a distinct frown and Julien instinctively did, too, just as a loud banging sounded.
“What’s that?”
“Some cultures call it knocking. You wouldn’t be familiar,” the man murmured, slipping past him with a sway in his hips that did interesting things to the silk. ...
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