Brightly (Flicker #2)

Chapter 1: The New Normal

Reaching up to knock on the door, Lee Capren froze. Anxiety roiled in her chest. The June sun pressed uncomfortably against her back, but her fingers were cold with nerves.

In the nearly nine months since she first came to Flicker, Filo had never brought her along for a job quite like this, and she knew he expected her to be able to handle herself. For the first time, he trusted her to take the lead.

"Go on, then," Filo urged, elbowing her lightly. "We haven't got all day."

"I know that." She flashed him an irritated glance. "Don't rush me."

Filo gave her a skeptical look, but didn't say anything. They stood on the porch of a small, well-tended house in the middle of a small, well-tended neighborhood, nestled in one of the nicer suburbs on the outskirts of Bridgestone City. The lawn was freshly mowed, the walkway swept clean. It seemed like the last place in the world that would have problems of the magical variety—but if Lee had learned anything since last fall, it was that things were rarely what they appeared to be.

At last, Lee took a breath and rapped on the door.

When it swung open, an older man in his fifties or sixties stood before them. He was dressed in a button-up shirt, khaki shorts and sandals.

"Mr. Dawson?" Lee asked.

The man nodded, peering at them through his bifocals. "Yes."

"I'm Lee Capren," she said, as confidently as she could. She'd practiced this little speech before. "This is Filo Shine. We're from Flicker. We're here to help with your problem."

"You're the Filo I corresponded with?" Mr. Dawson asked, squinting critically at Filo.

"Yes, sir."

"I thought you would be older." His eyes narrowed further. "How old are you?"

"Twenty," Filo lied smoothly. That was about as far as he could push his age; if he claimed to be much older, nobody would believe him. Filo was really only seventeen, the same age as Lee, but Mr. Dawson didn't need to know that. Filo had explained this to Lee in no uncertain terms: Never tell them you're underage. Nobody wants to send a couple of kids into their basement to fight a monster, and glamouring them into forgetting your age or thinking you're older isn't worth the effort. Just say it like you mean it.

"All right, then." Though he was frowning slightly, Mr. Dawson opened the door wider and let them inside.

He led them through the living room, into the kitchen. Through a window over the sink, Lee spied a vegetable garden in the backyard. An older woman—Mrs. Dawson, Lee presumed—was sitting at the kitchen table, hands folded in her lap.

"Irene," said Mr. Dawson, "these are the people we hired. They'll be fixing our... problem."

Before Mrs. Dawson could speak, Filo spoke up.

"Don't worry ma'am," he told her. "We'll be in and out, no more than an hour. Nobody has to know we were ever here."

The older woman looked troubled, but she nodded.

"Now," Lee said, "could you describe the problem for us one more time?"

"It started about two weeks ago," Mr. Dawson explained, a little hesitantly. "We started hearing noises coming from the basement—thumping, shuffling. There's a cellar door that leads into the back yard. We figured some raccoons had gotten in through there. Then we noticed the smell. There's a terrible smell coming from down there, like blood and rotting things."