Page 7 of Prince of Ruin

My stomach drops, but I can’t seem to move. How do they know me?

Their upturned snout scrunches. “It’s time to stop hiding, little king.”The raspy voice carries a taunting melody that makes chills pop out on my skin. My heart beats faster, tripping over itself like a goddamn track runner who drank too much beer before the race. I can’t seem to tear my eyes from the prankster’s. “We are waiting for you.”

“Who are you talking to?” Dad demands. I duck before he whirls in my direction. I hear another crack, and a sharp hiss. “If you refuse to dole out any more information,” Dad seethes, “then you are useless to me.”

I look over the sill just in time to find Dad aiming the iron rod toward the person’s upper arm/wing, ready to plunge it in.

“Dad—NO!”

Dad pauses, crazed, rabid eyes meeting mine. The distraction is just enough for the cosplayer to tear out of the ropes, grab dad behind the head with their taloned wing, and smash it into the table. Standing up, the prankster is easily eight feet tall. Christ, the costume must have stilts or some shit like that. The massive wings stretch out, one wing shredded where Dad must have torn it. The costume has no arms, save for the ones lining the thin papery wings, and black claws peak out where the feet are.

“Stop with your silent treatment!” they hiss at me, those black eyes flashing at me, fangs bared. “No more lives need to end in vain.” And then, faster than any normal human could move, they slip across the room and out the door, flapping their wings as they leap out of the barn. By the time I race around to the other side of the barn, they’re gone. A car blares its horn as it flies by, and my muscles tense. My heart is pounding, my head spinning and telling me that what I saw…it couldn’t be real.

I race into the barn as Dad lifts his head from the table and rubs the blood off his forehead. “I told you,” he mutters through gritted teeth, staring at the blood on his fingers, “never to come out here when I’m taking care of the demons.”

My heartbeat thrashes against my ribcage. I hurry to Dad’s side and study the wound. It’s just a cut.He won’t even need stitches, though the blood dripping down his face makes it look far worse.

“That asshole could have seriously injured you.” I look down the road as I walk behind Dad back to the house. The car that flew by must have grabbed the pranking cosplayer and drove off.

“If you’re looking for the demon,” Dad says, looking back at me with a concerned wrinkle forming between his brows. “It flew over to the forest yonder and burrowed back into the portal that leads to hell.”

I blink, but nod, not bothering to explain to Dad that it was simply someone who came to Bone Hollow for the Renaissance faire. It had to be. We get weird people from all over the country coming to this fair. This person no-doubt heard about our semi-famous haunted house, did his research, and learned that the man who lived here was known for hunting demons. Must have gotten my name off one of the many articles written about us, too. The asshole decided it was a good idea to play pranks on Dad…and ended up getting his costume ripped.

What a dumb fuck. The icy fear in my blood slowly heats until fire runs through my veins. My hands are trembling with rage now. Seriously, if Dad had killed that kid, thinking he was a real demon, then Dad would have gone to prison. Or the insane asylum. Either way, fuck that asshole for thinking this was eventhe tiniest bit funny. I hope that the costume that Dad ripped cost a fortune.

“Go on inside,” Dad says, a scowl on his face.

“But what about—”

“Clav.” His cold blue eyes frost over as he glares at me, and I clamp my mouth shut. I want to tell him about the faire and how this house is famous for being haunted and how the bat was just some dick dressed up to play pranks on us, but it’s clear Dad is not in a listening mood right now. So, I stomp ahead of him like a kid having a tantrum, slamming the door behind me after I go inside.

~*~

I’m so pissed about the prankster that I almost stand Aden up for the faire. I would call to cancel, but we never exchanged numbers. I wouldn’t feel bad being a no-show. I mean, I barely know the guy. I’ll never see him again after this weekend, so what’s the point?

I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling, my decision to not go final. And I try to think of anything else that will take my mind off Aden’s brilliant smile, his shamrock green eyes shadowed by long lashes, those soft pink lips…

No. Nope. Not going to think about him.

Instead, I force myself to think back to the cosplayer in the bat costume this morning. Our house isn’tthatfamous, but there have been several articles written about it, one that really got some traction in the Haunted Houses of America magazine last year. With the most famous Ren Faire in the state so close by, it would make sense for a couple of teenage idiots to have their fun with our house.

Now I’m curious. That bat costume was so realistic, it’d be easy to spot the culprit at the faire. Dad is already losing his mind. The last thing he needs is for our house to be attacked by a bunch of pranksters he believes are demons. This could be a long weekend if they decided to come back. If I find this guy, maybe I could talk to him. Or at the very least, snap a photo and show it to Dad so he’ll see that it’s not a real demon, just a cosplayer.

Chewing my lip, I get out of bed and cross the room to my closet, looking for something that both screams Ren Faire nerd, but will also be hot enough to make Aden want me.

~*~

The Ren Faire is already packed. Folks dressed like fairies, high fae, pirates, medieval royalty, and knights crowd the grassy area between the many tents, which are set up selling handmade candles, woodenswords, woodwind instruments, aesthetic crafts made from bones, and apparel fit for royalty.

I didn’t have time to find a costume. Honestly, while I love coming every year, I’ve never dressed up. Yeah, I’mthatguy. But I did dress up. I’m wearing a black vest over my favorite light pink button-down, which really brings out my hot pink hair. My sleeves are rolled up to my elbows, showing off my velociraptor skeleton tattoo, and I left the front buttoned down lower than usual, y’know, for eye candy reasons.

On the stage, a magician is performing magic tricks in front of a crowd of dressed-up kids. And in the distance, I can hear the speaker blaring the ongoings of a jousting competition. I usually come with a few of my friends from high school, but they’ve all successfully graduated from college and are starting up their fancy careers now, far away from their hometown.

And here I am, in the same place I was four years ago when I graduated high school. No degree, no job, and I’m still living with my parents. Holy balls, this issad.I have never felt as self-conscious about being a loser as I am now, standing in the middle of a Ren Faire alone, in my hometown. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I decide maybe I shouldn’t be here and turn to leave, when a hand clamps down on my shoulder.

“I was hoping I’d find you here.”

That voice.

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