Haunted Rayne

26 | The Sun's Requiem (part 1)

Emma Scott hesitated at the base of the steps, eyeing the old Lockwood home with a sense of foreboding. A wind chime, tangled with dried leaves, clinked lazily in the breeze. Its song was almost too soft to cut through the wind. Beneath her feet, the porch began to creak as Emma slowly climbed the steps, the chipped banister rough beneath her fingertips. She paused at the door before knocking, her gaze drawn to the overgrown garden spilling over the cracked stone path. Weeds mingled with herbs, some of which she recognized from her last visit to this home. A crow cawed from a nearby tree, its black silhouette stark against the murky sky.

She had already tried to leave Lockwood. She had tried to leave the state altogether. But every time she had tried to drive to any location, other than this one, her hands trembled over the steering wheel, her breath coming in hot, ragged gasps, waves of panic washing over her. The sight of the demonologist's home had become a beacon amidst the spiraling anxiety. The realization that she had ended up here, despite every impulse to turn back, felt like she no longer had a choice.

Before her knuckles even touched the wood, the door opened with a groan. Braiden stood there, framed by the dim light inside, his expression sour as always. The faint smell of burnt sage clung to him.

"Christ in Heaven, not you again," he muttered. "No solicitation, please. Thank you."

"Braiden." Emma placed her hand on the door before he could close it on her. Her voice was steady, trying to silence his theatrics. "Something's happening isn't it? I can . . . feel it. In my bones."

He adjusted his rumpled shirt with a grand, sweeping gesture. "Well, feel your bones elsewhere. These ones are all felt up."

"Braiden," she pressed, her patience strung far too thin. "What do you know?" Her eyes caught the suitcases piled by the door. "You're leaving?"

With a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Braiden leaned against the doorframe. "I have family in Florida. I'd like to spend my last nights alive, sipping mojitos on the beach, with them. That alright with you?"

"You're . . . dying?"

Braiden's gaze grew somber as he looked past her, into the gloom of the street. "We all are," he explained softly. "The world is about to end."

◢✥◣

After classes were over, Bianca Hawthorne stood in the garden court just beyond the soccer field, nestled between meticulously manicured hedges. In the distance, the bubbling of the courtyard fountain carried on a brisk wind. The gentle rustle of leaves and the faded dribble of the fountain did little to hush her disquietude. She made her way to a seat, clenching the edges of the wrought-iron bench to steady herself.

Jackie paced the neatly trimmed paths, her agitation evident in brisk uneven steps. David leaned against the stone balustrade of the gazebo, his gaze lost. Across from him, Cole crossed his arms, leaning against the adjacent pillar. The tight grip of his fingers on his biceps betrayed his own frustration too. The sun caught the glint of the chain around his neck, its shield pendant clinking softly as he breathed. Bianca's heart pounded as she looked around, the weight of their collective fears threatening to push her under.

Jackie broke the silence first. "This is all too insane."

David let out a harsh breath. "I didn't want to believe it either."

Cole shot him a sideways glance. "Well, maybe you should've believed it—when your boyfriend said shadows were killing people."

David gritted his teeth. "Don't you dare. I thought it was his schizophrenia, Cole. You weren't there. You didn't see what it did to him."